


Coming Up Easy

by musette22



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, DIY, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Teacher Steve Rogers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Steve Rogers, Writer Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musette22/pseuds/musette22
Summary: “Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them."Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 297
Kudos: 609
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is. My contribution to this year's Not Another Stucky Big Bang.
> 
> With art by the wonderful [LiquidLightz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLightz/profile/) \- what an amazing coincidence! It was lovely working with you again this year <3
> 
> With, as ever, my endless thanks to [@rainbowsandcoconut](https://rainbowsandcoconut.tumblr.com/) / [Flamingle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingle/profile/) for being the best beta to ever beta. I love you, boo. <3
> 
> Big shout out to the amazing [Paperstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/profile/) for her feedback and cheerleading! <3
> 
> And last but not least, thanks to [@greyhoundsgirl](https://greyhoundsgirl.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for providing me with the incredible headcanon that this fic is based on! Thank you so much for letting me expand on your idea, you’re the best! Hope you enjoy this <3
> 
> Title taken from [Coming Up Easy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWDKU4Y5zEo&ab_channel=TheNutiniMusic) by Paolo Nutini.
> 
> Kudos and comments mean the world! Thank you so much! ❤️

By the time Bucky finally kicks shut the heavy door of his apartment behind him and drops his keys on the side table in the hallway, he’s sweating profusely. His OOTD, consisting of an old tank top, shorts and flip flops, with his hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun, is never going to win any prizes, but with the way the temperatures have soared the past week, Bucky cares a lot more about staying cool than looking it. He’s laden with heavy shopping bags containing his weekly shop. Three bags on each arm, his pinky aching with the effort of trying to hold on to that one bag that slipped down his wrist when he ascended the final flight of stairs to his floor. Because Bucky lives on the fourth floor of an apartment building without an elevator.

Of course.

He huffs, carefully lowering the bags – canvas, since he does try to do his bit for the environment where he can – to the floor and groaning as he rubs his wrists to try and get some circulation back into his hands. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Bucky calls out into his tiny apartment. He receives no reply, but seeing as he lives alone with just his cat Alpine for company, it would’ve been disturbing if he had.

Leaving most of the bags by the door for the moment, Bucky just grabs the one containing the frozen items and takes it into his diminutive kitchen. His apartment is sweltering – hell, the whole of New York is sweltering – so he half expects his frozen pizzas to have cooked in their boxes in the time it took him to walk down from the supermarket two blocks away to his place, but they seem to still be mostly frozen. Small wins.

It takes some maneuvering, but once he’s managed to stash them in his miniscule freezer, Bucky makes a beeline for the couch, where Alpine is stretched out like some kind of regal, snow white empress - bored of the heat and fully expecting to be doted on. Bucky does, dote on her, quite a lot all the time, as it happens. It’s a mutually satisfactory relationship the two of them have.

“It’s so hottttt,” he complains, sinking down beside her on the couch and kicking up his bare feet on the coffee table. Futilely, he hopes for the slight breeze blowing in from the wide-open, barred windows to the far end of his shoebox apartment on his bare legs, but it offers none. It’s only early July, but the heat has made its home in the city last week and doesn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Alpine meows pitifully. “I know, honey,” Bucky coos, idly stroking her beautiful white fur. “I know. It’s no fun.”

Four years ago now, Bucky had gotten Alpine as a present from his family: his very own Scottish Fold kitten, to celebrate the publication of Bucky’s second novel. Bucky has always been crazy about Scottish Folds. There’s just something about their round faces and eyes, their folded little ears, that absolutely melts him. Alpine is without a doubt his most prized possession. Although, if he’s honest, he doesn’t think he really owns her so much as she owns him, but the point is that Bucky is besotted with her, and lives in constant low-key fear that someone might snatch her in the street someday, because she’s strikingly beautiful and Scottish folds are worth a few bucks. Fortunately, Alpine isn’t the outdoorsy type. She prefers to make her own adventures within the safety of his apartment, where her meals are served at set times every day, and where she can retreat to her throne whenever she’s had enough of playing with her copious toys. Bucky may have bought the couch – a faded velvet, vintage cabriole – with his own, hard earned money, but he is under no illusions as to whom it actually belongs to. Besides, it’s a fitting throne for his princess.

When Alpine has had enough of Bucky’s affection and haughtily turns away from him, Bucky drags himself to his feet again and get started on putting away the rest of his groceries. Organic granola. Low fat yogurt. Kiwis, bananas, apples. Freshly baked spelt bread. Three bars of Hershey’s that he immediately puts away in the fridge (he’s aware it’s a sin to put chocolate in the fridge, but it’s the only way to keep it from turning into chocolate milk right now). A new bag of his favorite coffee beans from the place on the corner gets pride of place on his shelf. Bucky buys as much organic produce as possible, but it isn’t always easy when you’re on a budget, so he tries not to beat himself up too much about having the occasional frozen Quattro Formaggio or instant ramen. He may no longer be a student, but he’s found that some old habits certainly do die hard.

There’s a clang somewhere above his head, followed by a piercing scream. Bucky doesn’t even flinch. He’s long gotten used to the noise. The first few times, he’d dropped what he’d been doing and ran upstairs to check what was happening and whether he could help, but it’d turned out to be a false alarm every time, so now he doesn’t bother anymore. Apparently that’s just what living in a tiny apartment with thin walls and floors with two adults, a toddler and a baby sounds like. There are still mornings where Bucky is jerked from his dreams by a wailing infant, but by and large he’s adjusted to the excessive noise well enough.

Bucky does think it’s ironic, since he himself is very quiet. He never turns his music up loud, never throws parties, and most days he only talks to Alpine, hoping that if his neighbors can hear him, they’ll think he’s talking on the phone to someone.

His mother is always nagging at him to move, ideally to Indiana, where Winnie and George moved after Bucky and his sister Rebecca had flown the nest, but despite how small his apartment is and despite the fact that it’s run down and has a family of four living upstairs, Bucky likes it. He likes Crown Heights, with its diverse shops and restaurants, and how close it is to Prospect Park, and Bucky’s place may be poky, but it’s home. Or as close to one as he has right now, anyway. Real home would’ve been the ground floor of the brownstone in Park Slope Bucky’s family lived until he was nineteen. But since they moved away, back to Indiana where Bucky’s dad was originally from and still had family, Bucky had been living by himself. First in student digs, while he was studying Astrophysics & Cosmology at NYU, then sharing a flat with Wanda for two years once they’d graduated. Wanda may be four years younger than Bucky, but she and Bucky started the course in the same year. She’d been a veritable child prodigy – one of those rare ones who’s since gone on to actually fulfill their potential. Right now, Wanda works as a junior astrophysicist at a prominent observatory, already leading a team of six even though she’s not yet thirty.

Bucky could’ve gone down that road too, he muses over the sound of his little electric coffee grinder, and who knows, maybe in a few years’ time he could be where Wanda is now. Unfortunately, though, he’s just not as much of a genius as she is, and he doesn’t have the patience to do it the long way. The thing is, Bucky had been crazy about space and science-y stuff ever since he was a young boy, and he’d been lucky enough to get his parents’ financial support to pursue his dream degree of Astrophysics & Cosmology at NYU, supplementing it by working as a paid lab assistant throughout uni. But after he got his degree, he realized he’d have to do years and years as lecturer and research assistant before he could get a proper scientist job, and, well. He just didn’t want to do that, to be quite frank.

As it happens, in his limited spare time Bucky has always written short stories. Fantastical tales about space travel and apocalypses, just as an outlet for his overactive imagination. One day, Becca had asked to read some of them; most likely because she thought she could make fun of him for them, but to both their surprise, she’d actually been impressed. Kind of a novelty for the both of them. Becca encouraged Bucky to send the best ones, to a few publishers, and somehow, an independent one called Maria Hill, had actually picked it up. His first publication had been a collection of his short stories, and after they’d done well enough, he’d secured a four-book contract. Bucky still isn’t sure how exactly it happened, but he is now a published author, working on his second series of sci-fi novels. Not hugely successful, but once Bucky secured the contract for his first series, he’d been able to start renting his little apartment, and since then he’s even managed to pay off his student loans already.

At thirty-two, Bucky may not be a genius scientist, but he’s a moderately successful author, and he’s actually not unhappy with that outcome, either.

Well, not in a general sense, at least. His current situation right at this very moment, he is less than thrilled with.

Bucky sighs, carefully carrying the extra-large iced coffee that he just fixed for himself to his study – a nook, it’s a nook in his living room – and plops himself down at the white, railroad style table. He cracks his fingers, takes a deep breath, and types ‘Chapter 14’, after which he stares at his blinking cursor for a good ten seconds before he deflates.

“Nope,” he mutters, dropping his head on the table. “I got nothin’.

It’s been like this for over a month now. Worst case of writer’s block Bucky’s ever had. Only case of writer’s block Bucky’s ever had, actually.

He can’t afford to throw in the towel, though. He has to keep trying. He only has about a quarter of this book left to write, but the deadline is creeping closer every day, and Bucky has written one measly chapter in the past three weeks. Not even a very good one. And the worst thing is, he was supposed to writing on the beach in Mauritius right now. As early as November last year, he had planned to join Clint and Natasha on their annual holiday this summer, but he’d been forced to cancel after he had a panic attack about his approaching deadline (in less than three months from now) in front of Nat. She’d sternly ordered him to stay home and finish his book, claiming that she didn’t need him ruining her vacation with his long face and his fretting. Still, Bucky’s known her long enough to know the real reason for her wanting him to stay home was concern. Nat knows how much Bucky’s career means to him, and she wouldn’t want him to jeopardize it in any way, especially not for a vacation. Even if that vacation was to a tropical island.

Bucky sighs, sitting up and running a hand over his face. For a long moment, he stares unseeingly at the NASA poster on the opposite wall.

It’s sagged sideways again.

Whatever Bucky tries, somehow the thing just doesn’t want to stay centered.

He’s about to start looking for a piece of blue tack, but he stops himself. He knows he’s just dying for a distraction, anything to take his mind off how much of a failure he is as a writer, but he’s already gone for a run very early this morning, before the heat got too stifling, and he’s done his groceries, so now he’s fresh out of excuses. Bucky fleetingly considers seeing if Wanda wants to hang out, but he’s well aware she’s swamped with work right now. He would call his sister, only he knows she’d just tell him to stop procrastinating. Becca is something of a genius herself, having secured a scholarship for a degree in Information Studies at Syracuse University and then sticking around there for some fancy job that Bucky doesn’t understand once she’d graduated.

At least Nat and Clint are “just” martial arts instructors. Granted, they own their own, very successful gym in downtown Manhattan and can afford to go on a month long holiday to a tropical island once a year, but still. Bucky met them when he’d signed up for one of their taekwondo courses, back when he had to leave his usual gym because he kept running into a former fling there who he had no desire to ever speak to or even see again. Bucky had given up on martial arts pretty quickly, but the friendship he struck up with the instructors, bonding over a shared loathing for herbal teas, is somehow still going strong.

For the next hour, Bucky really does try to write, and he gets in four whole sentences, but it’s so _so_ hot, even though his windows are wide open, and the fan on his desk is on full blast. He does have AC, but it’s the noisiest son of a bitch on the planet. Bucky doesn’t need peace and quiet to write, fortunately – or he’d be fucked, living in Brooklyn. But in addition to the loud family upstairs and the constant noises from the street below, especially the sirens, the constant droning of the AC is just too much.

On a whim, Bucky opens Google and types in ‘how to fix noisy AC’.

One of the first results is a YouTube video, so Bucky clicks on it. It’s a tutorial, but all it tells him is that he’s nowhere near handy enough to fix it by himself. He sighs, about to close the tab and give up, when another video catches his eye. One that promises to show him how to fix a leaking faucet. Since Bucky’s kitchen faucet started leaking a few weeks ago, that one piques his interest. He knows how much water a leaking faucet wastes and he doesn’t like to be more of a strain on the environment than he already is by just existing in a capitalist society, but it just so happens that the building’s super is his ex-something (not really boyfriend, more like prolonged hook up) and a massive asshole to boot. No way he’s letting Brock into his apartment again, not after how much effort it took to get him out last time. Sure, he could have just called an independent plumber, but he doesn’t really like strangers in his place. He figures he might as well check out the tutorial and see if he might even be able to fix it himself and spare himself having to deal with either strangers or exes.

Bucky clicks play, fully expecting another balding, middle-aged guy. So when who he sees instead is some kind of blond, built _demi-god_ , Bucky gasps. Actually gasps out loud.

Steven, as the guy is called according to his YouTube handle of StevenGrantRogers, is absolutely _stunning_. Wide shoulders fill the screen, along with a full head of blond, artfully mussed hair, chiseled jawline and a beautiful, strong nose. His eyes are blue, so very blue. And his mouth… his mouth makes Bucky want to do a quick prayer, and he’s not even religious.

“Oh, _hello_ ,” Bucky says, out loud, at his computer screen.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” the god says, “and today, I’m going to show you how to easily fix a leaking faucet.”

Steve is beaming as he says it, as if he couldn’t imagine a greater joy in life than helping strangers on the internet make minor adjustment to their homes. So not only is he scorching hot, Steve is also a _cutie_ , with a deep, sexy voice and a crooked smile that’s making Bucky swoon like a teenage girl. Steve’s eyes, big and bright, sparkle with humor, and even the fact that his nose has clearly been broken at least once is endearing.

The first time Bucky watches the video, he doesn’t process a thing Steve says. All Bucky does is just stare at his face, and possibly drool a little over the width of his shoulders. Steve is standing in a kitchen – his own kitchen, as it turns out – as he addresses his viewers. And then, then he steps further away from the camera, revealing more of his lean, sculpted body, and _holy shit_. His outfit it simple, just a plain white tee and some faded blue jeans, but the shirt is at _least_ two sizes too small, and the jeans are so worn there are tears in them. Of course, the rips could be a fashion statement, but somehow Steve doesn’t strike him as the fashion type of guy, for all that he could be an A&F model. Then, whole Bucky is still picking his jaw up off the floor, Steve produces a wrench, before the image adjusts to show a close up of Steve’s faucet and Steve’s hands as he does something DIY-y that’s probably meant to stop an imaginary leak. Hands that are big and capable, long fingers curled expertly around the wrench’s handle.

Bucky is _dying_.

When the video ends, Bucky stares into space for about a minute. Then, without conscious input from his brain, he clicks on StevenGrantRogers’ profile, goes to videos, and plays the first video Steve ever posted, followed by the second. And then the third. You get the picture.

They’re all DIY videos, but Steve does also drop some nuggets of info about his personal life. Over the course of the first four videos, Bucky learns that Steve is actually an elementary school teacher in daily life. Over the summer holidays, Steve, who apparently isn’t the vacationing type and instead likes to stay busy and useful, fell into making DIY YouTube videos because he’s also pretty handy. Incredibly, Steve lives alone with his dog Rusty, a cute mutt that he got from a shelter. Steve reveals he lives somewhere in the New England countryside, but Bucky thinks he detects a New York accent - possibly even Brooklyn? – which in Bucky’s book only makes him more attractive. Steve’s DIY videos take him all around his house, which isn’t particularly big, although it could still easily fit Bucky’s apartment five times. It’s cozy and homey, though, styled in a way that’s both charming and effortless. According to Steve, he bought the place as a fixer-upper and did all the renovations himself over the past few years.

God, Bucky could seriously hate this guy if he weren’t already halfway in love with him.

Eventually, Bucky remembers he was supposed to be learning how to fix something. Right. His faucet. He blows out a breath, takes a big gulp of his iced coffee, and goes back to the first video he’d watched. This time, he actually tries to pay attention to what Steve’s saying. It still takes some pausing and reversing because he gets a little distracted, but eventually, Bucky digs out his rarely used toolset and manages to fix his faucet within five minutes. It’s laughably easy – all he has to do is tighten the nut. In fact, the hardest bit is actually trying not to laugh or groan at Steve saying ‘nut’ four times in the span of a minute.

Because he’s nice like that, Bucky decides to leave a comment under the faucet video, thanking Steve for the useful instructions and informing him that he managed to successfully fix the issue within minutes. On a whim, he adds, _Also your dog is really cute_ – because why the hell not? Rusty had made an appearance in most videos. Propping his head on the table where Steve sat demonstrating how to fix up a broken picture frame, jumping on the couch behind Steve while he showed his viewers how to mend a crack in his fireplace, and running after squirrels in the backyard while Steve repaired a wonky gutter on the outside of the house. 

While he hopes, Bucky doesn’t think he’ll get a reply. It doesn’t look like Steve replies to comments much, even though he’s got his fair share of admirers. Bucky isn’t surprised to see all kinds of lewd propositions, and he has a vivid image of fair-skinned Steve blushing prettily when he reads them.

Fuck, Bucky needs to get a life. Or get laid. Both.

By the time Bucky finally emerges from his DIY-YouTube-god rabbit hole, it’s five-thirty, and Bucky’s stomach growls angrily. He sighs, unplugs his fan and takes it into the kitchen, positioning it on the counter so it cools him a little while he cooks. Rustling up a simple pasta salad is all he can bring himself to do in this heat, and before he serves it, he adds fresh cat food to Alpine’s bowl. Bucky eats in front of his laptop like he normally does, watching a space documentary he started last night. When he’s done, he pushes his plate to the side and idly opens his email.

He has four new messages, and there, at the top, received at 6:32 p.m., is an email from YouTube that reads _Reply to your comment on ‘How to fix a leaking faucet’ by StevenGrantRogers.’_

“Oh my god,” Bucky mutters, fumbling to open the message.

_Hi! Thank you so much for your message, I’m glad you found my video helpful. I’m sorry if this is weird, and I know it’s a pretty common name, but is there any chance this is James B. Barnes, the author of the 2132: Oblivion series?_

Bucky gapes. Reads the message again, then squeals out loud, making Alpine hiss indignantly.

Because as it happens, Bucky _is_ the author of the _2132: Oblivion series_. Which means Steve knows his books. Which means Steve knows _Bucky_. Well, _of_ him, at least, but even just that is blowing Bucky’s mind. Does that mean Steve likes space, too, if he likes Bucky’s novels?

“Wait,” Bucky mumbles, frowning at his screen, “don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t even know if Steve likes your work.” For all he knows, maybe Steve tried reading them once, hated them, and is about to give Bucky a piece of his mind.

Nah. Steve doesn’t seem like the type to be callous like that. If he’s asking after his books, that must mean he likes them. Right?

Bucky takes a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

 _Hey_ , Bucky types, fingers shaking just a little _. Yeah, that’s me actually. Don’t tell me you’re one of the three people apart from my mom who’s actually read my books?_

As he waits for Steve to reply, Bucky bites his nails, waters his plants and bothers Alpine, until a ‘ding’ notifies him of a new email. Practically tripping over his own feet, he rushes back to his laptop.

_Oh my god. Wow, that is incredible. I am a huge fan. HUGE. I must’ve read that series at least five times. I’m eagerly awaiting your new one, too._

Bucky’s jaw drops. “Well, this is a turn-up for the books,” he says out loud, so flabbergasted that he doesn’t even giggle at his own pun. What the hell is he supposed to reply to that? ‘Thanks, I’m having a huge case of writer’s block so I have no idea if there’s even going to be a new one’?

Before he can type up a reply, there’s another notification on his phone, this time from Instagram.

Message from Steve G. Rogers. _What_.

Bucky clicks the pop up.

_Hi, James. I hope it isn’t inappropriate of me to reach out through Instagram but I figured it’s a little easier to chat this way than through public YouTube comments. I’ve been following you on here for a while now._

Steve follows him on _Instagram_? An actual Adonis has been following him on Instagram for a while now, and Bucky didn’t even know? What the fuck. He doesn’t even have that many followers, just a few thousand, and all he posts are pics of his cat, blinking cursors, and occasionally a pic of him signing books at sci-fi and literary conventions.

Another message comes in then: _Okay that sounded less creepy in my head, I’m sorry. Anyway. Huge fan. Feel free to ignore this._

Chuckling, Bucky clicks on Steve’s profile picture, which takes him to his account. A quick look through his Instagram tells Bucky Steve is annoyingly photogenic (but then he knew that already), and he _really_ loves his dog. Every other picture is one of Rusty (some of the two of them cuddling up on the couch, and on one devastating occasion, in bed) interspersed with some artistically framed shots of what appear to be the woods around his house. Bucky’s curiosity is piqued by a couple of pictures of drawings, which, when he opens them, turn out to be done by Steve. So not only is Steve gorgeous and a DIY god, he is also a really talented artist. And he’s a fan of Bucky’s writing?

“Sounds fake,” Bucky mumbles, nervously pulling the elastic band from his bun and ruffling his hair, before retying it. He takes a breath to steady the butterflies already foolishly fluttering around his stomach, and types his reply.

 _Hey, Steve! Please call me Bucky, James is what I go by professionally, but it makes me feel like I’m working :p And don’t worry, Instagram is fine. I had no idea you were following me on here, such a small world. Thanks again for helping me fix my tap_. He thinks for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before adding, _Let me know if there’s anything I can do to repay you_. Bucky has absolutely no idea if Steve is into guys, but there is a slight possibility that what they’re doing right now is flirting, so he’s just testing the water.

Steve’s reply comes in only seconds later: _Nice to meet you, Bucky_ _:)_ _It’s no problem, it’s my hobby! I’m just glad I can help people out. Although I wouldn’t say no to a sneak preview of your new book…_

Bucky snorts. Okay, so Steve either isn’t picking up on the flirtation, or he’s just not interested. Bummer if it’s the latter, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still flattering that Steve likes his writing so much.

 _Sorry Steve_ , Bucky types, _my publisher would have my head if I showed you before I showed her. What I_ can _do is tell you what happened to Lavinia and Michael after they left the Trink…_

Steve eagerly takes the bait, and the next half hour is spent chatting about the ending to Bucky’s first series, and the fates of the characters whose endings he’d left purposely unresolved. Steve wasn’t kidding when he said he was a fan – he seems to remember more details that Bucky himself does, and Bucky finds himself more excited about his own writing than he has for a long time.

It’s nice. The effortless banter, too. Steve is easy to talk to, funny and smart and genuinely interested in what Bucky has to say, and soon, they find themselves seguing into other topics of conversation. Bucky mentions Brooklyn, to which Steve responds by telling him he’s Brooklyn born and raised, too. So Bucky had heard that right, then. He knows it’s silly, but he feels a little thrill at that. Knowing Steve is from the same area as Bucky, is familiar with the streets and the shops and the train lines he knows so intimately. It feels like they have a connection, and _wow_ , maybe Bucky should be writing romance novels instead of sci-fi, he thinks, rolling his eyes at himself. He narrowly refrains from asking Steve which street he grew up on and what school he went to, figuring that’s maybe a bit much for a first conversation. He’s forcing himself to at least try to be cool and collected, not that that’s ever been a particular strength of his, when Steve surprises him by asking,

 _Hey, no worries if not, but do you wanna maybe switch to texting? Just a little easier to use, more options and all that_ :)

Bucky’s heart does a little jump. He doesn’t even have to think about it, sending Steve his number straight away. Nat would probably have his head if she knew, telling him he’s too trusting, that he’s an idiot for getting so carried away over someone he hardly knows and who could easily be out steal his savings rather than his heart. Whatever. Bucky just can’t help trusting Steve. Call it a gut feeling, but he truly feels like with Steve, what you see it what you get. He may have only just met the guy online, but he can’t imagine there being as much as one deceitful bone in that man’s magnificent body.

When it starts to get dark, Bucky closes his curtains, then makes himself comfortable on the couch with a Popsicle from the freezer. They talk all night, about Rusty and Alpine, about Steve’s job, about space. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given how much Steve seems to love Bucky’s books, but Bucky is still pleased to find that Steve is almost as much of a space nerd as he is.

**S: _Whoa. How the hell is it midnight?_ **

Bucky frowns. That can’t be right. But lo and behold, the time at the top of his screen displays all zeroes.

B: _Huh. Guess time really does fly when you’re having fun._

**S: _I’ve gotta go let Rusty out before bed._**

B: _Yeah of course, go do what you need to do. Sorry to keep you past your bedtime, old man_

**S: _Hey. Pretty sure you’re older than me._**

For a second, Bucky wonders how Steve could possibly know that, before he remembers he has a Wikipedia page. It’s short, but it’s easily googleable, and it does contain his date of birth.

B: _Oh yeah? How old are you?_

**S: _Just turned 31 last week. So we’re only about a year apart, right?_**

B: _Oh, happy belated birthday. I’m still gonna lord this over you from now on, young’un._

**S: _Just you wait, once you start going grey and creaky and I’m still running 5 miles before breakfast every morning you’ll wish you were as young and sprightly as I am._**

Bucky snickers, trying not to let his mind wander to the image of Steve jogging in a pair of tiny shorts and a muscle tee, and failing miserably.

B: _Whatever you say, Steve. Now go walk your dog, ttyl._

At least, he hopes so.

**S: _Absolutely. You still need to tell me about that one time you visited the Kennedy Space Center_.**

Bucky smiles to himself. Steve not only wants to hear about what was possibly the greatest experience of Bucky’s adolescent life, but he’s clearly implying they’ll talk again tomorrow, and possibly after that. It makes something warm unfurl in Bucky’s gut, something that means he’s going too fast, but that he already knows he can’t suppress. Truth be told, he was in trouble the first time he saw Steve’s stupidly beautiful face on his laptop screen.

Knowing they’ve got so much in common, and that Steve is intelligent, funny, kind and talented… Well, that only cements his fate.

B: _Tomorrow. Have a good night, Steve._

**S: _Ask Alpine to check for bedbugs before you get in._**

B: _Please. She’s insulted you'd think that any bedbugs could enter her domain without her knowing._

**S: _Of course. Please pass on my sincerest apologies._**

B: _She says ‘mmrrrww’ so I think you’re good. For now. Goodnight, Steve_

**S: _Goodnight, Bucky_ **

Bucky goes through his nightly routine of turning off lights, brushing his teeth and kissing Alpine goodnight in a daze. He feels lighter than he has for ages. Despite the fact that his bedroom is still boiling, Bucky is hard-pressed to be annoyed by the heat tonight. He gets into bed, setting his alarm for seven, so he can squeeze in another morning run before the sun is too high in the sky.

It takes a while for sleep to come, his conversation with Steve running through his head like some sort of ‘best bits’ reel, but when he finally does drift off, the final thing in Bucky’s mind before he sinks into sleep is a flash of blue, blue eyes and golden hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: Steve talks about his mother’s illness and death, which happened several years ago.

“Is 9 a.m. too early to text Steve?” Bucky asks through a mouthful of post-run cereal.

Alpine doesn’t reply, just gives him a pitying look and starts licking her left paw.

“Fine, I’ll wait. Until, like, ten. Ten’s fine right? He said he goes for morning runs too, surely he’ll be up by ten.” 

Alpine switches to her right paw.

Sighing, Bucky runs a hand through his still damp hair. He gets up to make himself another coffee when his phone lights up with a notification.

It’s Steve.

Bucky’s stomach flips over himself when he sees it’s a picture, but it turns out to be a photo of Rusty, lying in the grass, squinty-eyed and tong lolling from his mouth as he rests his black, white and rust-colored head on a tennis ball.

**S: _It gets too hot in the afternoon for long walks and stuff, so I need to make sure he gets rid of his excess energy somehow. Think I wore him out._**

Bucky swallows. “Wish you’d wear me out,” he mumbles.

B: _Relatable. I just got back from my run too, it’s just about manageable in the mornings_

**S: _Tell me about it. Think I’ll put out the kiddie pool on the lawn after breakfast so he can cool off._**

“Wish you’d put out for me,” Bucky sighs, acutely grateful he doesn’t use speech-to-text the way Wanda usually does.

Call him old fashioned, but Bucky likes that Steve texts in full sentences, like Bucky himself does too, mostly. Becca tends to use some sort of shorthand that it takes Bucky longer to figure out than it probably would her to actually write out full words. She says it’s because she’s very busy and important and doesn’t have time for such puny things as punctuation and grammar, but Bucky knows she’s mostly just lazy and/or trying to annoy him by offending his writerly sensibilities.

B: _Jealoussss. I don’t even have a balcony_ :(

 **S: _You’re welcome to come over and use our kiddie pool anytime, Rusty doesn’t mind sharing_** **_;)_ **

Bucky blinks. That’s a joke, right? Surely Steve isn’t actually inviting him to come and visit them – they’ve only known each other since yesterday. It’s not that Bucky wouldn’t head over there in a heartbeat if Steve meant it, but he he’s just messing around, right?

Before Bucky can think of a reply, Steve texts him again.

**S: _Anyway, while I go do that, you should tell me about your trip to Florida, please_**

Bucky blows out a slow breath. Right. Change of subject. That answers that question. He can’t help but feel a little disappointed, but he knows he’s being ridiculous. He pushes the feeling aside, makes himself another iced coffee, and settles down at his desk to tell Steve all about his visit to the KSP fourteen years ago.

****

They talk. A lot. So much that Bucky is glad for the fact that he has unlimited texting, or he’d be terrified of his next phone bill. 

He prides himself on actually telling Steve that he’s going to turn off his phone for a while because he needs to focus on his work, and the way Steve responds, with a string of thumbs-up-party-hat-nerd-face-alien emojis, inspires Bucky enough to write a full half page of actual words that make some semblance of sense. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s been able to manage lately, so he counts it as a win.

Steve uploads another DIY video on Wednesday, in which he shows viewers how to turn an old crate into a cute little side table. Bucky may or may not spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the way Steve’s triceps bulge and flex as he saws the crate into usable planks, and he might just spend a long time in the shower after that. He feels guilty as hell about it, but he’s a red-blooded, gay man in a bit of a prolonged dry spell, and Steve is a walking wet dream. Bucky is just not that strong.

On Thursday, he spends some time cleaning his apartment. It seems he’s a little overzealous in his scrubbing, because he somehow knocks loose a plank in his bookcase, and when he tries to reattach it with his screwdriver, he somehow… breaks the screws? He’s a disaster.

B: _Managed to break a screw!?_

**S: _?? Break how?_**

B: [photo]

**S: _Ahh, you stripped it._ **

“Wish you’d strip me,” Bucky pouts.

B: _Is there a cure, Doctor DIY?_

**S: _Well, it depends. What were you trying to do?_**

B: _Knocked down a plank in my bookcase and was trying to put it back. I kinda wanna refurbish it, maybe paint it or something. But I can’t even put in a screw so maybe that’s too ambitious of me_

**S: _I could help, if you like?_**

B: _Help?_

**S: _Yeah. Like, a private tutorial, over Zoom or Skype?_**

Bucky’s heartbeat speeds up. Video calling. Holy shit.

Leaping out of his chair, he makes a dash to the bathroom to check his hair in the mirror. He ties it up, then lets it back down, before tying it up again, pulling loose a couple of strands to make to look effortless, which it isn’t. He pinches his own cheeks, then stops to scold himself for acting like a character from Pride and Prejudice.

“You’re fine. This is fine,” Bucky tells himself in the mirror, giving himself an encouraging nod for good measure. “I got this.”

He doubles back to the living room, finding those three little dots on his phone that indicate Steve is typing. “Oh no,” Bucky mutters determinedly. “You’re not gonna back out again.”

B: _Sure! Now?_

The typing bubble disappears, before appearing again.

**S: _Works for me :)_**

It takes a minute to set up their connection, during which Bucky has to physically stop himself from messing with his hair again, but then, Steve’s beautiful, smiling face appears on his laptop screen.

“Hey!”

“Hi.” Despite his nerves, Bucky can’t suppress his smile. “It’s nice to see you. Again. I mean, I’ve seen your YouTube videos. Not- not all of them, obviously. Just a couple _.”_

_Alright Bucky, time to stop yapping._

Steve laughs, and – oh no. Bucky’s seen him smile before in his videos, but he’s never seen him _laugh_. And the way Steve’s eyes crinkle in the corners, his cheeks rounding out and his lush mouth curving into a joyful grin, has Bucky’s heart doing all kinds of acrobatics in his chest. He looks so _good_.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Steve smiles. “Alpine around, anywhere?”

Bucky nods, looking over his shoulder towards the cabriole. “She’s on her throne. Wanna say hi?”

“Yes, please.”

Picking up his laptop, Bucky makes his way over to the couch, holding up the screen in front of Alpine. She sniffs it, possibly expecting food, but loses interest when it turns out it’s not.

“Hello, miss Alpine,” Steve says. “How are you today?”

“She had a little adventure this morning,” Bucky tells Steve, stroking Alpine’s soft fur in the meantime. “Decided to climb on top of one of my kitchen cabinets this morning. I looked for her for a good twenty minutes before I found her. Almost had a heart attack, thought she’d ran off of somethin’.”

Steve chuckles. “See, I could never have that problem with Rusty. He’s no exactly subtle. If he’s around, you’ll know about it.” He tilts his laptop, showing Rusty’s face where it’s propped up on Steve’s thigh, looking up at him adoringly.

Bucky tries not to ogle Steve’s legs. “Hey there, fella,” he says, addressing Rusty. “Demolished any tennis balls lately?”

“Only three this week. It’s a good thing we bought a bag of twelve the other day, isn’t it, buddy?” Rusty whines in reply, and Steve pets his calico head. “So,” Steve continues, looking back up at the camera, “wanna give me the grand tour? I think it’s only fair, seeing as you’ve seen most of my place at this point.”

“Nothing grand about my apartment, pal,” Bucky snorts, “but sure, I’ll give you the tour.” He stands up, turning his laptop so Steve can see the space. Showing him around his place takes all of two minutes, but Steve is nothing but complimentary. He gushes about Bucky’s use of colors and how it works to make the small rooms seem more spacious, and about the vintage furniture juxtaposed with modern appliances. It’s funny, Bucky does feel like he’s done the best he could with the limited resources he had, but Steve’s approval makes him feel proud and pleased about his home in a way he hasn’t felt before. It’s kind of like how he feels about his writing, after he’s listened to one of Steve’s expositions on why a particular sentence in the conversation on page seventeen of his fourth novel changed his way of looking at the world. Steve has a way of building people up, of making them see the best in themselves and their work, and Bucky hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear these things until he met him.

The little tour ends back in his office – nook, it’s still a nook – where the bookcase they’re meant to be looking at is situated.

“So,” Bucky says, setting down his computer. Without conscious thought, just for something to do, he pulls the elastic from his hair, running a hand through the loose strands.

Steve’s eyes follow the movement. “Nice hair,” he remarks, and Bucky suddenly realizes Steve has never seen him with his long hair before. The pictures on Bucky’s Instagram that he features in himself are all from last year and before, when he still had his usual, shorter ‘do.

Mortifyingly, Bucky can feel a blush creeping its way up the back of his neck. He’s kind of a sucker for compliments, especially coming from gorgeous men. “Oh, thanks,” he mutters, biting down a smile. “I decided to grow it out last year. Figured I was kind of a hipster anyway, as a writer living in Brooklyn with a cat, so I might as well get the hair to match, y’know?” _Okay Bucky, what did we just say about the yapping._

Steve smiles, his blue-eyed gaze making Bucky want to squirm where he sits. “I like it. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says again, flashing Steve a smile. He clears his throat. “So, how about this bookcase, huh? Do I need to whip out my tools?”

As soon as he’s said it, he inwardly cringes at his unfortunate choice of words, but Steve doesn’t seem to think he said anything odd, instead nodding and explaining to Bucky what tools he’s going to be needing. On the one hand, Bucky’s relieved, but on the other, he kind of wishes Steve had teased him about it. It had seemed like maybe they were on the verge of flirtation just now, but now Steve is back in professional DIY instructor-mode. He has got to knock it off with the wishful thinking.

The thing is, Bucky can’t seem to get a read on whether Steve might be into guys. He probably isn’t, because Steve did mention an ex-girlfriend the other day. And while he could be bi, Bucky can’t imagine he’d be that lucky because, well, he never is. By now, Bucky has inadvertently flirted with Steve a couple of times, because he just can’t help himself, but Steve never really seems to pick up on it, somehow. He hasn’t told Steve he’s gay yet, not in so many words. Not because he’s afraid Steve will respond badly – he really can’t imagine that happening – but because on some level, Bucky is afraid it’ll still change their friendship and dynamic, and he doesn’t want to lose the easy camaraderie between them.

He’ll tell Steve eventually. It’s kind of inevitable that it’ll come up at some point with how much they talk about literally everything. Bucky just needs a little longer to gather his courage.

So for now, he shakes it off, and focuses on Steve’s instructions.

****

It becomes a thing they do, video calling. They still text, but they also start leaving their cameras on while they eat, and occasionally they’ll watch a movie together. It’s nice. Bucky does have friends he sees regularly, but he’s closest to Nat and Clint, who are still on holiday, and Wanda, who is still busy. So, Bucky is grateful for the company. He wouldn’t call himself lonely, per se, and he likes his own company well enough, but it’s still nice to have someone other than Alpine to talk to, or just tell random things as and when they pop into his head.

During one of their late night conversations, not even two weeks into their friendship, Bucky is lying on the couch eating ice cream and Steve is sitting in his armchair, doodling while he talks to Bucky. Suddenly curious, Bucky asks Steve if he’d ever thought about becoming a professional artist, instead of teaching art in elementary school.

“That was the plan, for a bit,” Steve replies, not looking up from his sketch pad. “Started art school, but then Ma got sick, so I dropped out.”

Bucky holds himself very still, giving Steve the space he needs to talk about this. From things Steve’s said before, Bucky has gathered Steve’s parents both passed away, his dad a long time ago and his mom more recently. He hasn’t talked about what happened to them yet, and Bucky hadn’t wanted to pry.

“She, uh,” Steve continues, gaze still fixed on the paper, “she needed specialist care and the best place for it was in Boston, so we moved there.”

Sensing that Steve isn’t really waiting for a reply, Bucky just hums.

“She still deteriorated,” Steve continues. “Pretty quickly, too. The doctors had said she’d have a few months, tops, but she ended up lasting almost a year.” Steve’s voice wobbles on the last words, as if he’s on the verge of tears, and Bucky’s heart breaks for him.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. I know that probably means nothing seeing as I never knew her, but I really am sorry. She sounds like one hell of a woman, from what you told me.”

Steve finally looks up then, not fully, but enough to glance at Bucky from underneath his absurdly long lashes. His smile is genuine, though sad around the edges. “Thanks, Buck,” he says. Bucky’s heart gives a little, inappropriate lurch at the unexpected nickname. “She would’ve liked you, you know.”

“Yeah? I hope so. She sounds like someone whose good opinion would matter a lot to me.” _She sounds a lot like you_.

“She was incredible,” Steve says, voice thick. “It’s been five years since she passed, but I still miss her every day. I don’t think that’s ever going to change.”

“Probably not,” Bucky concedes. “But the pain might lessen, with time?”

“I hope so.” Steve’s voice is very small for such a big man, and Bucky’s arms ache to reach out and wrap around those wide shoulders. He wishes they weren’t two hundred miles apart. He wishes he could comfort Steve, even just as a friend.

“So anyway,” Steve says, clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders just a fraction, “I’d already found a job here by the time she passed, and just kind of… stuck around. I guess I could’ve gone back to New York, maybe get another job and finish art school, but- I don’t know. Just too many memories, I guess. It was easier to keep my head above water somewhere that didn’t hold so many memories of when she was still-” He swallows. “She spent most of that last year in a care home, so at least the place I lived at here was…”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, saving Steve from having to put it into words. “I get that. You weren’t trying to forget her, but you also couldn’t move on in a place where everything reminded you of her.”

“Exactly,” Steve breathes, visibly relieved that Bucky understands. “Besides, it’s not so bad here. I do miss New York sometimes – my friends, especially, but I can still visit. And I’ve got my house here, and Rusty, and the kids.” He smiles again, a proper smile this time. “I never thought I’d ever be a teacher, to be honest. But kids have such a wonderful way of looking at the world. We lose touch with a lot of that inherent beauty in things, when we get older. We’re bound to grow tired and a little bit jaded because life will disappoint us all at one point or another, you know? Kids don’t have that yet. Their way of looking at the world and at beauty is much simpler and at the same time so much more refined than ours. I’d forgotten too, a lot of it, and the kids helped me remember. I really needed that, at that point in my life. And now I get to give them something in return, even if it’s just a basic understanding of perspective and coloring. Does that make sense?”

The look Steve gives him then, so open and honest with his wide, blue eyes, knocks something loose inside Bucky’s chest. Jesus, this man.

Bucky swallows. “Yeah, Steve,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. “It makes a lot of sense. I’m really glad you found your place there.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says – that nickname again. “So am I.”

“You, uh,” Bucky starts, licking his lips. “You said you still have friends in New York, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “Sam lives in a fancy apartment in DUMBO now, and Tony and Pepper in Manhattan.”

“And you still visit them, sometimes?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Not as often as I’d like, but I usually go out there to see them for a few days during the breaks.”

Bucky hums.

“In fact, I-” Steve says, then stops.

“Yeah?” Bucky prompts.

“Well, actually, my friends Tony and Pepper are getting married next week, so I’ll be in New York Saturday and Sunday.”

Oh my god. Steve is coming to New York. Play it cool, Bucky. “Oh!” he says. “We should meet up! If you- if you’d like, I mean,” he adds hastily. “If you have time.”

Bucky just about manages not to kick himself in front of Steve.

Fortunately, Steve’s face lights up instantly. “Yeah? I’d love that, if you’re not busy then.”

“Please,” Bucky scoffs, “like you haven’t figured out by now that I don’t have a life.”

Steve grins boyishly. “Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it? Anyway, I’ll only be in town Saturday for the wedding because my neighbor is looking after Rusty and I kinda feel bad about asking them to dog sit him for longer than one night, y’know? I’ll be staying at the Carlyle, since that’s where Tony’s wedding is, and-”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky interrupts. “The wedding is at the Carlyle?”

“Yes.”

“And are all the guests staying there?

“I think so, yeah.”

Bucky huffs incredulously. “What, is your friend Tony Stark or something?”

Steve’s face turns suddenly very sheepish. “Well. Yeah.”

Bucky blinks at him. “You’re serious.”

“I am,” Steve confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. My grandad used to work for his dad, and I guess they were friends of sorts. So when I was little, he used to take me to their place sometimes, and I guess Tony took a liking to me. He sort of took me under his wing, like the little brother he never had, and we’ve remained close ever since.”

“You’re shitting me,” Bucky says inelegantly. “You’re telling me your sort-of-step-brother is Tony Stark, CEO of multi-billion dollar company Stark Industries.”

“I mean,” Steve says, rubbing his chin, “technically Pepper is the CEO now, Tony just owns it and invents stuff.”

“Huh. Okay, I guess it makes sense the wedding is at the Carlyle, then. So is he like, flying you in on a private helicopter or something?”

“He offered to,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, and Bucky realizes two things simultaneously. One – Steve is being dead serious, and two – Steve is not the type to ever accept any charity or special treatment. Too stubborn by half, and with too strong of a sense of social justice.

“So you’re going by train?’ Bucky guesses.

“I’m going by train,” Steve confirms. “It’s only about four hours, and I can do some drawing on the train. I like sketching landscapes, I could use the practice.”

“Of course you do,” Bucky mutters. “So I’m guessing you’ll be busy all day on Saturday, right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, but my train back on Sunday isn’t until 4 p.m. So I could do brunch on Sunday, maybe? If you have time?”

“Steve,” Bucky smiles. “I have no life, remember. I can do breakfast or brunch or lunch, whatever’s best for you.” Something occurs to him. “Wait, how about your friend Sam? You don’t wanna see him?”

“Sam will be at the wedding, too. He used to be Pepper’s Legal Assistant, back when she was a hot shot lawyer. He’s a Partner at Lockhart/Gardner now, lots of pro bono work.”

“God,” Bucky says, with feeling. “You know some intimidating people, Steven.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I know. I have no idea why they’re all still slumming it with me, to be honest.”

“Ever thought maybe it’s because you’re pretty awesome?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the man,” Steve says sarcastically, and Bucky doesn’t like how self-deprecating he sounds. “Anyway, so we’ll meet for brunch? Say, maybe 11 a.m?”

“Sounds great. We could meet in the middle? Brooklyn Heights?”

“Great. I’ll be wearing a red carnation in my lapel so you’ll know it’s me.”

Bucky knows Steve is just joking around, but a tiny little part of him preens at the idea of Steve making such a stereotypical romantic gesture for him. Still, he clearly doesn’t mean anything by it, so Bucky just rolls his eyes. “I’m looking at your face right now, you dork. I think I have a pretty good idea of what you look like.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve grins. “I guess you do.”

****

“I know,” Bucky says, for what feels like the seventeenth time. “I know it’s risky.”

“Do you, though?” Natasha asks, on the other end of the line. “See, I don’t think you do, James, because otherwise you wouldn’t be meeting up with a total stranger you met on the internet two weeks ago, who is most likely straight, and who you’ve already developed a crush on so big I’d probably be able to see it all the way from Mauritius, if I focused.”

“ _Nat_ ,” Bucky whines, running his fingers through Alpine’s fur. Uncharacteristically, she climbed into his lap earlier, like she’d sensed his distress and decided a bit of moral support to deal with this conversation. She’s not quite the ice queen she likes to pretend she is. “I get it. I’m being an idiot. But then, would I really be me if I wasn’t?”

“This is the first good point you’ve made so far,” Natasha mutters menacingly.

“I’m going to meet him. You can’t change my mind.”

Natasha sighs. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that. You’re really into this guy, aren’t you?”

“Ugh, I am, Nat. I really am.”

“So you said he’s hot, huh?”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, squeezing shut his eyes. “He is _so_ hot, Nat. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Fine, I cave. Send me a pic.”

It takes Bucky less than a minute to screenshot one of Steve’s YouTube videos and send the image to Natasha.

She lets out a sharp whistle. “ _Damn_. You weren’t kidding.”

“Told ya,” Bucky says, unable to help his smug undertone.

“And you’re sure this is actually him.”

“We’ve been video calling every day for the past week, Nat. It’s him.”

“Alright,” Natasha concedes. “So I get why you’re into him.”

“He’s not just hot, though–” Bucky starts, but Nat interrupts him.

“He’s also kind and funny and smart and good with his hands, yes, I know, you told me. More than once.”

“Well, he is,” Bucky says stubbornly. “And if he’s not into guys then we’ll just continue being friends. It’s worked so far.”

“Has it, though?” Nat asks sharply. “You’re not pining at all, then? After _two weeks_ of knowing this guy?”

“I’ll get over it, if I have to.”

“Oh, James,” Natasha sighs. “You do know how you sound, don’t you?”

“Like an idiot?” Bucky guesses.

“Like someone who’s in danger of seriously getting their heart broken.”

“Oh, that,” Bucky says, deliberately flippant. “Well, nothing I haven’t been through before.”

“I know. That’s why I’m so worried.”

“I promise I’ll buy my own Ben & Jerry’s this time, should it come to that.”

“Oh, shush. You know it’s not about that. Clint and I will always be there for you if you need it, no questions asked and no I told you so’s.”

“I know,” Bucky says, his throat feeling suddenly tight. “You’re the best, Nat.”

“Hell yeah, I am.” There’s a pause, and then quieter, she adds, “I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Bucky. You’ve not exactly had the best luck in love so far and I know Brick really did a number on you. More than you let on, probably.”

“He’s called Brock.”

“Meh. Brick suits him better.”

Bucky huffs a laugh, reluctantly amused. “Steve’s nothing like Brock, though. I know I’ve made judgment errors in the past, but Steve is a good guy. I really don’t think he’d ever hurt anyone on purpose.”

“You can still get hurt, though. Even if he doesn’t mean to do it.”

“I know. But I’m willing to risk it.”

There’s a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Alright. You have my blessing.”

“Thank you, oh Queen of Russia.”

“Не проверяйте меня,” Nat mutters darkly.

Bucky is wise enough not to ask what that means. “Well, wish me luck.”

“Good luck, dumbass. And have fun. And I expect a full report after, got it?”

“Got it,” Bucky replies, smiling. “Kiss Clint on the nose from me. I know he likes those nose kisses.”

“You two are gross. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Love you, too, Nat.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now go write.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me ma’am again and you’ll regret it.”

“Yes, Natasha.”

Natasha grunts and hangs up on him.

Five minutes later, Bucky gets a text.

_Clint also thinks Steve is hot, but he says so are you, and Steve is an idiot if he doesn’t tap that. His words, not mine._

Bucky chuckles to himself. He really hope Steve isn’t an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Не проверяйте меня = Don't test me. (I hope)


	3. Chapter 3

On Saturday morning, Bucky is a mess. In the days leading up to the rendezvous, he’s managed to worked himself up in somewhat of a state. So much so that he ended up calling Wanda on Friday evening, begging her to come over to help him decide on an outfit, because he was just about ready to start tearing his hair out. And Steve likes his hair. Bucky hated bothering Wanda, knowing how busy she’d been lately, but he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t an absolute emergency. Wanda, bless her soul, immediately dropped everything and hopped in a taxi. Once she arrived, she’d taken every single piece of clothing Bucky owned and put it out on his bed, before proceeding to hold it all up to Bucky’s body while giving him assessing, not to mention very intimidating, looks.

It was kind of ridiculous really, seeing as it was still very hot outside – not quite as hot as last week, but enough that it would be insanity to wear anything other than shorts and a t-shirt, which is indeed what Bucky ends up wearing. He looks himself over one last time in the mirror: fitting, black jean shorts, a stone colored t-shirt that Wanda says complements his skin tone, topped off with some black vans, thin, leather bracelets, and his Ray Bans. His hair is up in a bun with some casual strands hanging around his face. Not that Steve hasn’t seen him lots of times before over facetime, but Bucky still feels like it’s important to make a good impression the first time they meet face to face.

Around ten past ten, Bucky squeezes Alpine for good luck, narrowly avoiding a scratch to the cheek, and heads out. He forces himself not to touch his hair as he walks the couple of blocks to the nearest station, then takes the 4 to Borough Hall. On the train, he can’t help but repeatedly check his reflection in the window. He gets a reassuring smile from an elderly lady who sees him fussing.

“You look lovely, my dear,” she says. “Are you meeting someone?”

“I am,” Bucky says, smiling back. He feels a little sheepish, but he supposes everyone’s been in his shoes at one point or other in their lives.

“Well, she’s a very lucky lady, whoever she is.”

“Oh, it’s not-” Bucky starts, but then stops himself. He’s not quite sure what he was going to say. It’s not a lady? Not a date?

It isn’t. It’s just two friends meeting for lunch.

That thought sobers Bucky a little. He’s been treating this, to all intents and purposes, as a first date. But really, Steve and he are just friends. Steve has given absolutely no indication that he likes Bucky as something other than that, or is even into guys, so Bucky shouldn’t be making this into more than it is. It’s a recipe for disaster. 

Bucky just smiles and thanks her, wishes the lady a good afternoon and makes his way to the doors when his stop comes up.

It’s marginally cooler outside than it was on the train, but he’s still glad he’s wearing a light shirt that won’t show any embarrassing sweat stains. Despite his earlier stern self-talking-to, he can’t help but check his reflection in a few shop windows on the way from the station to the lunch place.

And then, he turns the corner.

He spots Steve immediately. He’s kind of impossible to miss.

For some reason, Bucky had thought Steve might look more… average, maybe, in real life. His brain just had trouble wrapping itself around the concept of someone like Steve actually being out there, living a normal life, having a normal job, being _single_.

But there he is, looking every inch as gorgeous as he did on a screen – maybe even more so. He’s wearing a navy, button down with short sleeves, cut-off blue jeans, and some well-worn, cream converse. A pair of aviator sunglasses dangles from his collar. He’s turned away from Bucky, reading the menu board outside the restaurant, a small overnight bag placed at his feet. As one of the waitresses comes up to him, Steve indicates he’s just waiting for someone. When he looks up, he spots Bucky coming towards him.

The smile on Steve’s face damn near takes Bucky’s breath away, clichéd as it sounds, and his hair is like spun gold in the sun, and oh _no_ , this was a very, _very_ bad idea.

“Friends,” he mutters under his breath, pushing his shades up, into his hair. “Just friends.”

“Hey!” Steve says, when Bucky is within hearing distance. He takes a step forward, lifting a hand in a wave that turns into a – are they – is he going for a hug? Handshake? Mortifyingly, Bucky can’t figure it out fast enough and he ends up taking Steve’s hand while pulling him into an awkward half hug. Even in his distressed state, Bucky notices how good Steve smells and how broad his shoulders are, and ugh, get a grip, Barnes.

“Oh, phew,” Bucky jokes as they pull back, figuring it’s better to just throw it out in the open than trying to save this mess. “I was afraid this would be awkward.”

Steve laughs, loud and genuine, throwing his head back. Bucky’s eyes can’t help but trace the long, pale lines of his throat, and he swallows with effort.

“Man, what a relief,” Steve chuckles, reaching out again to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, in the flesh, as they say.”

It takes all Bucky’s willpower not to giggle at that, but he manages to keep a straight face. “It’s good to see you, too, Steve. D’you wanna go have a seat?”

“Yes.” Steve claps his hands together. “You know this place well, then?”

“I do. My sister and I discovered it by chance once, and now we come here basically every time she’s in town.”

“Huh,” Steve says, as he waitress leads them to their table on the terrace. It’s a nice table, just out of the sun, under the awning. “Must be pretty good then.”

Bucky nods, pulling back his chair before sitting down. “I can particularly recommend the eggs benedict with added salmon.”

“Great,” Steve smiles, sitting down opposite him. “You just saved me the trouble of having to pick something myself. I’m terrible at making decisions.”

“Oh god, me too,” Bucky sighs. “Usually when I find something I like, I just stick with it for eternity. Drives Becca insane, she gets something different every time. ‘Live a little, Bucky! How will you know if this really is the thing you like most if you never try anything else, Bucky!’”

Steve hums. “Yeah, but what if it’s not as good? Then you’ve just spent your hard-earned money on something you don’t even like.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Bucky beams. “You get me.”

Steve tips his glass of water to him, before taking a sip. “You just have the one sister, right?”

“Yep. And she’s more than enough.”

“I would’ve liked to have had a brother or sister,” Steve says, “but my dad died before they could have any more kids, and Ma never remarried. So it’s just moi.”

Steve says it casually, like it’s all water under the bridge, but Bucky can feel an undercurrent of something a little forlorn in the words. It makes him have to bite his tongue lest he blurts out an invitation to spend the next holiday season with him and his extended family. The Barneses have a _lot_ of cousins.

“Well, I love my sister, I really do, but we fought like cat and dog for a part of our childhood. We drove Ma up the wall.”

Steve chuckles. “I managed to do that all by myself.”

“What,” Bucky says, feigning shock. “Don’t tell me little Stevie Rogers was a troublemaker?”

“Oh, pal,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow. “You got no idea.”

Bucky leans forward on his elbows. “Now this sounds like something I need to hear more about.”

Steve indulges him, regaling him with childhood stories that have Bucky alternately shaking his head in disbelief, cracking up, and covering his mouth with his hand. The waitress comes and goes, taking their orders and bringing them their food, and conversation flows easily. Bucky is relieved to find they’re hitting it off just as effortlessly in real life as they did over the internet and phone. At Steve’s request, Bucky tells Steve more about his family, his friends. He’s mentioned them all before, of course, but he’s got _stories_. And Steve wants to hear them. It’s not like Bucky’s other friends never listen to him, but he’s know them all for a long time, and it’s been a while since Bucky made a new friend.

And Steve is just so- so attentive, and genuinely interested in what Bucky has to say. Bucky is honest enough to admit to himself that he likes that Steve makes him feel like he’s worth listening to. He likes listening to Steve, too. He knew that already, of course, but seeing the animated way in which Steve talks is somehow even more endearing in real life than it was on a screen. The wedding, apparently, was A Lot, even though it was nice to see some of his friends again, and to see Tony, the eternal playboy, finally tie the knot. The party itself hadn’t been Steve’s style, he confides in Bucky. Too glitzy, too loud, too ostentatious.

“A bit like Tony himself,” Steve muses. “But at least with Tony, I know that underneath all that is good heart, you know?”

Bucky hums. “I heard about those donations he made to the children’s hospitals and the VA last year.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. Just a little much, sometimes.” He huffs a laugh. “He got real drunk and tried to get me to do some kind of cha cha cha with, knowing full well I don’t dance.”

“You don’t dance?” Bucky asks, taking a sip of his juice.

“Two left feet,” Steve says ruefully. “Apparently I inherited them from my dad. How about you? Do you dance?”

“I do,” Bucky nods. “Not like, professionally, but me and my sister used to do kids’ dance competitions together when we were younger, easy ballroom stuff. We were never all that serious about it, though, and we stopped once we hit puberty. We both thought it was embarrassing to dance with your sibling.” Bucky remember it with a smile, adding, “Although I guess you think everything is embarrassing when you’re a teenager. And then in my early twenties I discovered clubs. Man, I used to really enjoy getting my groove on on a night out. But, y’know, I hit thirty and the hangovers got a lot more intense, so I haven’t been clubbing as much these past few years.”

“That’s a shame,” Steve says, tilting his head and regarding Bucky thoughtfully. “D’you miss it? Dancing?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “kinda.”

“Ever thought about picking the ballroom thing up again? I’m pretty sure there are lots of adult courses for that kind of thing, right?”

“Well, I-” Bucky starts, then stops himself abruptly. He hesitates for just a moment, before he decides to power through it. “I did try one of those once, actually, with my ex. It was not a success. He hated it. Hated everything I liked, actually. He was kind of an asshole, in hindsight.”

Bucky thinks he sees a flash of something in Steve’s eyes, but it’s gone before he can identify it. When Steve’s eyebrows knot together in a frown, Bucky’s heart beats wildly in his chest, but all Steve says is, “Certainly sounds it. Glad you’re rid of him, then.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, forcing his heartrate down. “Yeah, me too.”

The waitress chooses that moment to stop by their table to ask if they need anything else. They both order a coffee – espresso for Steve, flat white for Bucky – which then sparks a conversation about their favorite caffeinated beverages, and although a part of Bucky is dying to find out how Steve really feels about Bucky being gay, it would be awkward to bring their conversation back to dancing and exes.

At least Steve knows he’s gay, now, or at least into guys. And Steve… Steve doesn’t act like anything’s changed. He just keeps on chatting, first about coffee, then about other things, and doesn’t seem to view Bucky any differently after his confession. Which can mean that he’d either already guessed and is just unsurprised, or he doesn’t care. Either way, Bucky has no idea what to make of it. On the one hand, he’s glad that Steve doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal – Bucky hadn’t expected him to react badly, but you never know – but on the other hand, he’s just a little bit disappointed. Because if Steve doesn’t care that he’s gay, that probably means that Steve isn’t. Isn’t into guys, nor interested in Bucky.

Bucky thinks Steve must’ve noticed that Bucky’s got a crush on him, because he doesn’t think he’s been particularly good at hiding it. If so, Steve is probably just letting him down easy. Which… well. Not much Bucky can do about that, sadly.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because Steve keeps up a stream of conversation, effortless as if they’ve known each other for years instead of weeks, and soon, it’s time to pay the bill and for Steve to head back to the train station. Steve insists on paying for lunch, but so does Bucky. Turns out they’re both stubborn as hell, so in the end they end up paying for their own things.

“I’ll drop you off,” Bucky says as they leave the restaurant. “Grand Central, right?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says immediately. “It’s totally out of your way.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t have anything better to do.” No way is he missing out on spending even a minute with Steve, but Steve doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh?” Steve says, his eyes twinkling. “You finish that book, then? Congratulations.”

Bucky scowls, playfully punching Steve in the massive bicep. “Shut up. You know very well I didn’t, or I’d probably be headed to a tropical island right about now.”

“Meh,” Steve says, lifting a shoulder. “Tropical islands are overrated, if you ask me. Personally, I prefer the delights of a homegrown forest and a nice lake. Who needs overpriced cocktails when you can just have a nice, cold beer in your own backyard and sleep in your own bed?”

Bucky snorts inelegantly. “You sound like my dad, Steve.”

“Well, your dad sounds like a wise man, Buck,” Steve says gravely. “I’d like to meet him someday.”

Bucky’s traitorous heart skips a beat at that, and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from blurting out a ‘meeting the parents’ joke. Steve is just messing around, no need to make this awkward.

They’re still standing outside the restaurant, so Bucky checks his watch. “Come on, old man. We can just make the 4 if we leave now and we’ll be there in half an hour.” He sighs, putting his sunglasses back on as they start towards the subway station. “Honestly, the fact that I’d gladly spend an extra hour on the subway in a heatwave should tell you all you need to know about how my writing has been going lately.”

Steve makes a sympathetic noise, donning his own aviators and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Anything I can do to help? If you want, you could tell me about something you’re stuck on I could be like, your sounding board?”

He sounds a little shy about it, and Bucky melts a little further. “Yeah, okay. Why not. Can’t hurt, right?”

Steve perks up immediately. “Right!” he says. “Lay it on me, then. C’mon.”

 _Wish you’d lay one on me_ , Bucky’s internal monologue supplies helpfully.

For the rest of the way to Grand Central, Bucky tells Steve about the hurdles he’s been trying overcome – or circumvent, if need be – and Steve listens attentively, chiming in with thoughts every now and again. It actually does help a little, both in terms of giving Bucky ideas for where to take his story next, and to silence the little voice in his head that’s yelling at him to _do something, say something, find out how he feels, don’t just let him leave_. Because he knows he can’t. What is he going to say? ‘Oh by the way, Steve, I have a crush on you. Any chance you might have one on me, too?’

It’s just not happening.

So Bucky is just going to have to suck it up, put on a happy face, and wish Steve a safe journey home.

Who knows when the next time they see each other in real life will be, but it’s okay.

It’s fine.

Really.

Too soon, they’re standing in Grand Central Station’s colossal main hall, fifteen minutes before Steve’s train is due to depart.

“Well,” Bucky says, giving Steve a small but genuine smile. “It was great seeing you, Steve.”

Steve smiles back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah. You too, Buck.” He shifts his bag on his shoulder, then takes a deep breath. “Listen, I was just thinkin’,” he says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentative expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer _would_ say, as it is, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest.

Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “If you’re sure… that would be amazing, actually.”

Instantly, Steve’s face changes, going from bashful to happy puppy in a second. “Yeah? That’s great, Buck. You could come and go whenever you want, of course. I mean, it’s only mid-July and school doesn’t start until September, so you could stay as long as you need, basically.”

“Wow, god, Steve. That’s-” Bucky says, head spinning as he tries to find the right words. “If you’re sure, then… yeah, I’d love to. I’m just holed up in my little flat here, so a bit of fresh air would definitely be welcome.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Well, it’s still a heatwave, but at least I’ve got that kiddie pool in the backyard.”

Bucky laughs too, be it a little shakily. “Perfect. I’ll bring my swimsuit and my floaties.”

“You do that,” Steve grins.

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky slaps the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Alpine.”

“Bring her.”

“But Rusty-“

“Fine with cats. He lived with a lot of ‘em at the shelter I got him from. If Alpine can handle it, then so can he.”

“Actually, I have no idea how Alpine is with dogs,” Bucky frowns. “I’m not sure she’s ever really come across one. I got her as a kitten and she prefers to stay inside, mostly.”

“Only one way to find out,” Steve says, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug.

Steve has to run after that, so they part with a quick hug that Bucky knows he’ll be feeling the phantom of for the rest of the day, and a promise from Bucky to text Steve to let him know when he’s coming up.

All the way back from Manhattan to his flat in Crown Heights, Bucky feels a little like he’s floating.

He knows that Steve’s offer was just a friendly gesture, nothing more. Just the thought that Steve likes him enough to want him to come and stay with him for an extended period of time, though? It makes something warm and soft unfurl in Bucky’s chest. Makes him smile to himself even as he stands clinging to a sweaty pole on the subway at the start of rush hour, which is saying something. Steve might not reciprocate Bucky’s crush, but Bucky doesn’t doubt Steve likes him, and likes spending time with him. Granted, Steve is probably a little bit lonely, living alone and not having to work during the summer, with most of his friends still back in New York. It makes sense he’d want someone around for a while. Well, Bucky is more than happy to keep him company.

Taking Steve up on his offer isn’t the smartest idea Bucky has ever had, he’s well aware of that, but then he’s never prided himself on being particularly wise in the first place. The prospect of spending a week, maybe two, maybe longer with Steve, just the two of them in Steve’s beautiful house… It’s more than Bucky can resist. Plus, who knows? Maybe a change of scenery might actually work. It’s worth a try.

That’s what he tells Nat and Wanda anyway, when he texts them to let them know about what he’s planning to do. Natasha calls him immediately, and Bucky pointedly doesn’t pick up. He’s under no illusions that she’d be cheering him on. Right now, Bucky just doesn’t want to hear it. He’s already in too deep and he’d miss Steve something fierce if he stopped talking to him now, so basically, he doesn’t have any choice, _Natasha_. When she finally texts him to tell him he’s even more of a dumbass than she thought but that she hopes it works out for him, Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. That could’ve gone worse. Wanda’s answering text is a little more enthusiastic, but she does end it with an ominous _You know I’m here for you if you need me_ , which Bucky knows is well meant, but doesn’t exactly fill him with confidence. 

Bucky doesn’t call Becca. He hasn’t even told her about Steve yet. Even though she’s two years younger than Bucky, she’s even more protective of him than Natasha, even if she’d usually hide it in a joke. It feels weird to keep something from her, especially something as important as this is to him. Normally, he tells her everything. But the truth is, Bucky is a little scared. Becca would probably try and talk him out of this, and she’s the only one who actually has a chance of succeeding. She was there for him when he first came out and his dad wasn’t immediately happy about it. It had been a tough time for all of them, but they got through it, and Bucky owes Becca a lot. He doesn’t want to worry her with something that he hasn’t even figured out for himself yet.

Bucky stretches out on his couch, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to decide how long he should wait to text Steve. Alpine leaps up onto the couch too, curling up on his stomach and purring fiercely.

“Oh hi, princess,” he says, stroking a hand over her soft fur. “So, whaddaya think? Wanna go see a little bit of the world, hmm? Make some new friends?”

Alpine purrs harder, and Bucky decides to see that as a sign. He picks up his phone from the coffee table.

B: _Is Monday too soon?_

The response comes in less than a minute.

**S: _Monday’s perfect :D_**

“ _You’re_ perfect,” Bucky mutters to himself, sighing wistfully as he clutches his phone to his chest like some starry-eyed teen in a bad cheerleading movie.

Monday can’t come soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky spends his Sunday cleaning his apartment, knowing future Bucky will be grateful when he comes back to a tidy house – whenever it is he’ll be back. He also packs an overly large suitcase full of cat toys, clothes and his hairdryer (he texts Steve to ask him if he has one, but he does not – apparently Steve’s hair dries up perfectly all on its own). Oh, and of course his laptop. To write. Which is the reason he’s going to stay at Steve’s place in the first place. Yes.

After he’s booked himself a ticket for the 9:20 a.m. train to Boston, Bucky has a light dinner and then heads to bed early. He and Steve haven’t texted much today, but, uncharacteristically, Bucky isn’t worried. They’ll have plenty of time to talk once he gets there.

On Monday morning, Bucky puts an outraged Alpine in a travel cage, promising her all the treats she can possibly eat once they get to their destination, and takes the train up to Boston.

The four hour train journey passes quickly. Bucky knows he should be trying to write, but he doesn’t. Instead, he listens to music and reads a novel on his e-reader, recommended to him by Steve. He’s interrupted somewhere near Providence when a little girl who comes up to him. She asks if she can see Alpine, whose cage is stowed halfway under his seat. He gives her a smile and a cat treat, which she feeds Alpine through the bars of the travel cage, lighting up and giggling excitedly when Alpine licks her fingers.

“We’ve been telling her she can have a cat when she’s old enough to take care of it herself,” her mother tells Bucky wryly, “but I guess after this we won’t hear the end of it until we give in.”

They spend a few minutes chatting about the pros and cons of cat ownership, and then Bucky is left to finish his book in peace. Right before he gets to Boston South, Bucky shoots Steve a quick text to let him know he’s on schedule. Steve responds with a _See you soon, Buck_ and an excited emoji that Bucky spends far too long analyzing. At Boston South, he jumps on the subway (alright, so maybe it’s more like hauling Alpine and his suitcase up and down a bunch of stairs because the elevator’s out of service) for the final hour-long leg of his journey. He tries to read, but he can’t seem to focus, instead fidgeting with his hair in the reflection in the window every time they pass through a tunnel, and bouncing his leg until the man next to him shoots him a dirty look and he has to make a concerted effort to keep still.

And then, finally, or maybe even too soon, Bucky, Alpine and his suitcase arrive at their destination. Since Steve told him he’d be waiting outside, Bucky makes his way through the modest entrance hall and then through the front door, looking around for a familiar head of golden hair –

“Buck!”

He turns in the direction of the sound to find Steve leaning against the outer wall of the station, one foot propped against it like he’s some sort of freaking _pinup_ , a dazzling smile on his face.

This was a bad idea.

Bucky doesn’t have long to dwell on his mistake, because the next moment, Steve pushes off the wall and walks over to him to pull him into a bear hug. They're both a little clammy, and yet Steve manages to smell fresh as a daisy. Bucky suspects he himself does not, after the journey he's just had, but prays Steve doesn’t notice.

“Hey,” Bucky says once Steve pulls back, clapping his shoulder for good measure. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Of course,” Steve smiles. “I would’ve picked you up in Boston if you’d let me, I told you that.”

“I know, I know. And I told you you’re already letting me stay at yours and that you didn’t have to go out of your way to pick me up as well.”

“But I like driving,” Steve protests, gesturing to the classic pickup truck parked a few yards away.

Bucky raises an eyebrow as they walk up to it. “A pickup truck, huh?”

“She’s my baby." Steve takes Bucky’s suitcase and hefts it carefully onto the back of the truck. “Got her when I started the renovations on the house and I needed to transport materials and equipment, you know?”

It takes Bucky a moment to tear his thoughts away from the way Steve’s biceps had bulged under the short sleeves of his black t-shirt when he lifted Bucky’s suitcase. “Right,” he says, blinking a little. “Can’t wait to see it all in real life.”

Steve flashes him a blinding grin, before walking around to the other side of the truck and climbing in. Bucky follows his example, putting Alpine on the floor between his feet.

“Can’t wait to show you,” Steve says, and starts the car.

****

Steve’s house is right at the edge of town, about a five minute drive down a dirt road off the end of the main street. Bucky’s seen bits and pieces of Steve’s house before of course, both in his YouTube videos and some pictures Steve posted on his Instagram, but somehow, it’s even cuter in real life.

The house is built in cape style, though more modest in size than these places usually tend to be, with wooden paneling on the outside. It’s all painted white, with a slate-colored, sloping roof. The casement windows and a porch with square pillars give it a distinguished appearance, which is softened somewhat by the pretty flower borders framing the outside of the house. A lawn stretches out between the house and the trees that flank the far side of it, the couple of small apple trees dotted around lending the spacious lawn a slightly more intimate atmosphere as well as a few convenient shady spots. Under one of the larger trees stands a wooden table with some deck chairs, next to the infamous kiddy pool, and there’s a small shed at the far end, at the edge of what looks to be a patch of woods.

Last week, Steve sent him some ‘before’ images of the house when he bought it, and Bucky finds that he’s genuinely impressed with what Steve has done with the place. He tells Steve as much. Makes some appreciative comments here and there that cause a pretty, pleased flush to creep up the fair skin of Steve’s neck and cheeks.

“Thanks, Buck,” he tells Bucky earnestly, as they stand in front of the porch, about to go in. “I know you’ve already seen a lot of it from the inside, but I’ll give you a tour later if you want.”

“I’d love one,” Bucky says, meaning it.

“Food first, though. I hope you’re hungry, I made some tuna casserole earlier.” Steve turns to look at him over his shoulder as he unlocks the door. “Wait, you do eat fish, right?”

“Absolutely. Tuna casserole sounds amazing, I’m starving.” Okay, so maybe he just had three granola bars on the subway just in case, but Steve doesn’t need to know that.

The moment Steve opens the door, they’re greeted by a very enthusiastic Rusty. The dog barks and leaps up and down, clearly ecstatic to see Steve again.

“He always acts like I’ve left him alone for weeks,” Steve laughs, pushing Rusty back a bit so Bucky can enter. “Such a drama queen.”

“Oh, Alpine is like, the drama _empress_ , so they should get along just fine,” Bucky jokes, still making sure to keep Alpine’s cage out of Rusty’s jumping range for the time being. As it happens, Bucky himself isn’t the most confident around dogs either. It’s not that he dislikes them, he just doesn’t have much experience with them. Rusty seems friendly enough, though, so Bucky holds out a hand for the mutt to sniff. It does so with enthusiasm, tail wagging like mad.

“Hey, there,” Bucky says, scratching Rusty behind the ears. “’S nice to meet you, pal.”

“Wanna try and let Alpine out?”

Bucky looks up at Steve, then at Alpine. “Sure, why not," he replies. "I guess we should make sure she can’t get out of the house just yet? Let her get used to it first. I brought a long leash so we can see how she does in the backyard at a later point. That’s if she wants to go out at all. She’s a bit of a homebody.”

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Let me just do a quick round around the house first to see if everything’s closed. Back in a sec.”

While Steve does a perimeter sweep, Bucky takes a moment to take in his surroundings. He’s immediately struck by how gorgeous and homey Steve’s place is - light and airy but still cozy. Most of the walls are painted in a soft, yellow hue, which works well with the white doorways, ceilings and staircase, and the wooden floors. There is vintage-looking, wooden furniture including chairs and a chest of drawers in the hallway, which leads on into the kitchen.

“Alright,” Steve says, bounding down the stairs again. “Everything seems secure, and I’ve put Rusty in the living room for now.”

Bucky looks at Alpine through the gate of her cage. “Okay then, princess. Get ready to take back your freedom.” He puts the case down on the floor, carefully unfastening the hatch to open the little door. Once it’s open, Alpine takes her sweet time emerging, and when she does, she shoots Bucky a dirty look and shows him her butthole. Well. He guesses he deserves that.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Steve says, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t startle her. “My god, her face is so _round_.”

“Right?" Bucky says proudly. “She’s incredibly soft, too, if you wanna pet her.”

Steve slowly sinks to his knees beside Bucky, holding out his hand for her to smell like Bucky had just done with Rusty, and she sniffs it for a minute before pressing her head into his palm.

Bucky smiles. “Oh, she likes you. Took her ages to warm to Becca enough to do that.”

“Really?” Steve is beaming, carefully petting Alpine’s head until she’s had enough and wanders off. “I’ve never really met any cats before.”

Something about the way Steve phrases it, like a cat is a person whose acquaintance you make, has Bucky feeling a little mushy inside. They watch Alpine for a minute longer does a thorough inspection of absolutely everything.

“I guess she’s going to be doing this for a while,” Bucky says. “We might as well leave her to it and introduce her to Rusty after lunch?”

“Sounds good to me. Leave your stuff by the stairs, we can take it upstairs later.” Steve walks into the kitchen, which looks out on the lawn through big casement windows. It’s a shaker style kitchen, painted in a warm off white, with a deep, porcelain sink and simple, stone countertops. An Aga style oven and a worn, wooden table with four wooden, vintage-looking chairs complete the set up. Steve gestures for Bucky to sit on one of the chairs, so Bucky does, watching as Steve busies himself taking out plates and cutlery. Bucky can’t believe he’s actually in Steve’s kitchen, after first having seen it on YouTube just weeks before. Everything’s happened so fast, but he’s not complaining.

When Bucky takes his first bite of casserole, he chews it slowly, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “You made this yourself?”

Steve frowns, cocking his head in a way that’s far more adorable than it has any right to be. “Yeah? Is it- is it not good?”

“Not good?” Bucky asks incredulously. “It’s _amazing_. Listen, if there’s anything you’re not good at, any flaws, now would be a good time to tell me. You know, just to salvage my already fragile self-esteem.”

Steve scoffs, hiding a smile in his own bite of casserole. “Shaddup,” he mutters, the tips of his ears turning red. “I’ll have you know I’m a terrible singer and already told you I can’t dance for shit.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“No chance, buddy.”

“My name is Bucky, actually.”

Steve groans. “Why did I invite you to come here again?”

“Because you’re positively enchanted by my endless wit and sparkling personality?”

Steve hums, looking at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Something like that,” he says, before taking another large bite of his food.

Part of Bucky wants to ask what he means by that, but another part is scared of making things awkward this early into his stay. So he says nothing and eats his food. They chat about the kitchen, Steve telling Bucky about some of the adjustments he made to it and how he kept the renovations as low-budget as possible. Bucky may not be a DIY enthusiast, exactly, but he is a Steve enthusiast, and he greedily drinks it all in.

After lunch, Bucky fishes Alpine out of the pantry, and takes her into the living room to meet Rusty. 

It’s tense for a moment, Alpine’s back arching as she stays stock still and regards the strange creature that’s giving her adoring looks while happily wagging its tail. Then, with measured steps, she moves forward, slowly walking up to Rusty, whose whole body is vibrating with the effort it takes to contain himself. When Alpine’s within touching distance, Rusty loses the fight with his self-restraint and starts bouncing up and down, whining excitedly. Bucky holds his breath, but Alpine merely watches the dog for a moment, before turning around again, wandering off to inspect the rest of the living room.

“Well,” Bucky says. “I suppose that could’ve gone worse.”

“I’m sorry, big guy,” Steve tells Rusty, consolingly petting his head. “I’m sure she’ll warm to you eventually.”

Reassured that Alpine and Rusty will be fine together, Steve leads Bucky upstairs to show him the guest room, taking charge of hauling Bucky’s suitcase up the stairs before Bucky can even reach for it himself. To his credit, Steve doesn’t even remark on how ridiculously large it is.

The guest room is simple but cozy, painted in a soft eggshell color with navy details, and Bucky feels instantly at home. Steve leaves him to unpack for a while, telling him he’s free to use the wardrobe and put his toiletries in the adjacent bathroom, which he shares with Steve. 

Because Bucky is a nosy bastard at heart and can’t help himself, he quickly peeks into Steve’s room once he’s done in the bathroom. It’s nice, a little bigger than the guest room and with a double bed instead of a single, with high ceilings that follows the slope of the roof, and exposed wooden, sanded down beams. There’s cream colored, dense pile rug on the floor, and even a rocking chair in the corner. For some reason, Bucky finds this ridiculously endearing.

Once he’s done putting his stuff away and changing into a fresh shirt, he goes to find his host. Steve leads him up another small landing to the study, situated at the back of the house.

“It’s not big,” Steve says, as Bucky looks around the room, “but hopefully it does the trick.”

“It’s perfect,” Bucky tells him honestly, taking in the wooden desk that’s attached to the wall, just below the window. It curves and continues alongside the right wall, too. Plenty of space for Bucky to lay his head in despair, should the need arise after all. There’s a printer on a small cabinet next to the desk, and shelves attached to the wall, framing the window. Bucky’s eyes idly scan the books that are stacked on the shelf, and then suddenly, there’s his own series. His heart does a little jump.

“Hey.” Bucky lets his fingertips trail over the familiar backs. They look well-worn, like Steve’s read and re-read them countless times. It makes him feel giddy. “These are mine.”

“Sure are,” Steve says, and when Bucky shoots him a glance over his shoulder, Steve is looking a little bashful. “Wasn’t kidding when I said I loved your books, y'know.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Well, here’s to hoping I’ll be able to write while I’m here, so you can complete that collection.”

“I’m sure you will, Bucky. I believe in you.” Steve says, sounding so earnest it’s almost enough to make Bucky believe in himself again, too. “You wanna get started straight away?”

Through the high windows, Bucky can see the edge of the lawn with the shed in the back. It’s the perfect view to write, really. Peaceful, no distractions, but a hell of a lot more inspiring than staring at a wall. He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll start tomorrow, I think. Get a good night’s sleep tonight and start with a fresh mind tomorrow.”

“Alright. In that case, wanna join me and Rusty for a walk? There’s some woods behind the house that lead down to a lake, about half an hour’s walk from here. It’s lovely this time of year.”

“That sounds like just the ticket. Lead the way.”

Steve does, and Bucky tries very hard not to stare at Steve’s ass. He’s not successful, but considering how perfect and _right there_ it is, Bucky doesn’t think he can be blamed.

****

Steve hadn'tbeen exaggerating. The scenery around his house is gorgeous, all leafy trees in various shades of green, the sun filtering through the trees and painting vivid patterns on the earth. The path they take winds through the woods, a canopy of trees sheltering them from the worst of the scorching sun. Rusty doesn’t let a bit of heat deter him from cavorting around, running off after woodland creatures and barking at birds. He always coming back to Steve, though.

The lake is beautiful, too, deserted except for some ducks and a heron or two. Their voices and Rusty’s excited panting are the only sounds breaking up the silence that stretches over the water. It’s peaceful. It's just what Bucky needed.

They sit on some flat rocks that go halfway into the water, dangling their bare feet in the lake while Rusty enjoys a swim. At Bucky’s instigation, Steve tells him about his dog. About the day he got him at the shelter, how he was a little skittish at first due to bad experiences with his former owner, but how he’d immediately imprinted on Steve and refused to leave his side for the first few weeks after Steve took him home.

“He clearly adores you." Bucky watches Rusty fetch the stick Steve just threw into the lake and swim back to them to return it.

Steve hums. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Was he already called Rusty?”

“No, I think it was something like Bob, but it didn’t suit him, so I changed it.”

“Rusty fits him like a glove,” Bucky observes, referring to the patches of reddish-brown fur interspersed like rust spots through his otherwise black and white mane.

“Right? Not very imaginative maybe, but it feels right.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, watching Steve watch Rusty. It does feel right. Being here with Steve, out in what compared to New York City is the middle of nowhere. No one around for miles, just the two of them and their canine companion, spending a lazy afternoon in nature like Bucky hasn’t done since he was little and his parents took him and Becca camping upstate during the school holidays. Bucky marvels at the peace and quiet, already noticing how it’s doing him a world of good just to be out of the city for a while.

They head back after an hour or so, taking a different path this time. Steve clearly knows the area like the back of his hand, and even if he didn’t, Bucky is pretty sure that Rusty would be able to lead them back to the house without trouble. When Steve throws another stick for Rusty to collect, this time, instead of dropping it at Steve’s feet like he’s been doing all afternoon, Rusty bounds over to Bucky and deliberately drops it at his feet.

“Oh.” Bucky blinks in surprise. “Me?”

Rusty barks once, hopefully looking up at Bucky with his tongue lolling from his mouth, tail wagging. Bucky looks at Steve uncertainly.

“Go on. He wants you to.”

Alright, then. Bending down to pick up the stick, Bucky straightens and throws it as far as he’s able without pulling a muscle. Rusty bolts after it like a bat out of hell, slipping on the earth and causing a sand storm around himself, before emerging triumphantly with his prey and racing back over to Bucky. They repeats the process a few times, until Rusty gets distracted by a squirrel.

When Bucky turns back to Steve, he finds him beaming back at him. Bucky feels like he just passed a test, and it’s a little embarrassing how pleased about it he is.

When they get back, Bucky helps Steve prepare dinner. Steve suggests making something new, but Bucky insists he doesn’t mind finishing the casserole for dinner. They reheat what was left of the casserole, eating it with some bread and a light salad. After, Steve insists on loading the dishwasher, so Bucky goes in search of Alpine, finding her curled up on the pillow he brought for her which he’d put in the windowsill.

He scratches Alpine under her little chin. “Hey, sweetheart. You found your spot, then?” She cracks one eye open to look at him sleepily, but otherwise doesn’t move. “Alright,” Bucky chuckles, “hint taken. I’ll leave you to it.”

Steve and he have a couple of beers that night, outside on the lawn. Just like it did when they met for the first time in New York a few days ago, conversation flows easily, like they’ve known each other for ages. Plenty of banter, of course, but likewise animated conversations about everything from politics to history to literature to feminism. Already, Bucky has learned that Steve has very strong opinions on almost everything. Some topics get him fired up, make him lean forward in his chair and use his hands to make his point. Other times, he’s introspective and thoughtful, and he's always kind and compassionate.

When he lies in bed that night, Bucky finds himself thinking that he’s never met anyone quite like Steve before. He could be a little biased, but Steve seems special. Getting to know him makes Bucky feel a little bit like an astronomer who’s just discovered a previously uncharted star. Or heavenly body, more accurately.

Bucky sighs to himself. God, that body.

****

Bucky wakes up slow. The first thing he consciously notices is the quiet. There’s not a sound to be heard, which is very unusual. Normally there are traffic noises, crying babies, people talking or yelling. Right now, there’s nothing, not even the ticking of a clock to break up the silence. He’s confused for about five seconds, before he remembers where he is.

Steve’s house.

Bucky stretches languidly, grabbing his phone from the nightstand to check the time. 8:36 a.m. Later than he usually gets up, but he did have a long day yesterday. Also, this bed is _very_ comfy. Finally, Bucky does get up, padding to the bathroom on bare feet. He knocks on the door, just in case. There’s no reply and the door is unlocked, so Bucky goes in. The shower is dry, meaning Steve won’t have showered yet. Maybe he’s still in bed? He doesn’t strike Bucky as a late riser, but who knows. Tying his hair up so it won’t get wet, Bucky turns on the shower. He uses some of Steve’s body wash, which smells like sandalwood and something citrusy.

When he’s done, he gets dressed in a pair of chino shorts and a white t-shirt before going down, but there’s no sign of Steve there either. He almost assumes Steve really is still sleeping, until he spots the note on the kitchen table.

_Out for a run with Rusty. There’s coffee in the pot, help yourself to anything in the fridge and pantry. Be back soon!_

_S_

The coffee is still piping hot, so Steve can’t have been gone for too long. Pouring himself a mug, Bucky helps himself to some yogurt and granola as well as a banana, scrolling on his phone while he eats. Once he’s finished, puts his bowl in the dishwasher and pours out a second cup of coffee, which he takes outside. It’s already hot – not scorching, but definitely carrying the promise of yet another tropical day. He takes one of the deck chairs and pulls it into the shade of one of the trees. Sitting back, he sips his coffee, just soaking in the peace and quiet.

After about ten minutes, however, that peace and quiet is disturbed by the sound of barking. Five seconds later, Rusty comes shooting out of the woods, from the path Bucky and Steve had taken yesterday and hot on his heels, still running but slowing down as he nears the house, is Steve.

Steve, who is wearing very short shorts – _very_ short – and a muscle shirt with dropped armholes. Steve, who is panting and sweating, his shirt sticking to his body, which shows off the contours of his abs. Steve, whose biceps and shoulders bulge obscenely as he comes to a halt in front of Bucky, planting his hands on his hips while catching his breath. Bucky genuinely doesn’t know where to look. Of course, his brain decides he should definitely look at Steve’s junk, and it takes several concerted attempts to drag his eyes to anywhere but Steve’s crotch area, which sadly is at eye level.

“Hey, you’re up!” Steve beams, unaware of Bucky’s crisis. Rusty has dropped into the grass behind him, panting loudly with his tongue lolling from his mouth. “I didn’t know if you wanted to join me. I waited for a bit to see if you’d come down, since I didn’t wanna wake you, but I needed to get going before it got too hot, you know?”

“No- it- it’s fine,” Bucky says, brain struggling to reengage. “I, uh. I do usually run in the mornings, too, a couple times a week at least, but I guess I overslept.”

“Nah.” Steve waves a hand, which does interesting things for his bicep. “It’s not that late. But if you want you could come tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, then panics internally when he realizes that means he’ll be running next to demi-god Steve. His brain shows him a helpful montage of himself tripping over a root because he’s too busy ogling, and looking like an out of shape idiot next to Steve's physical prowess. Not that Bucky _is_ out of shape, but Steve is… something else.

“Great,” Steve says, still beaming like a fucking lighthouse. “Alright, I’m just gonna hit the shower and have some breakfast. You got everything you need?”

Bucky nods quickly. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll just take my laptop upstairs in a minute and take a stab at writing that novel of mine.”

“Fantastic.” Steve sounds a lot more excited about it than Bucky himself does. “Fingers crossed for a productive day.”

“I haven’t had one of those in a while, so that’d be great.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, and Bucky’s eyes instantly home in on his exposed neck, where drops of sweat are running down the tendons. Bucky has never wanted to lick a neck this badly in his _life_. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

He watches Steve head inside, noting with despair that the view from the back is, impossibly, even worse. Bucky drops his head in his hands and whimpers.

On his way to the study, he picks up his laptop in his room. Steve is - badly - singing in the shower – _Shake It Off_ , of all things, which makes Bucky smile to himself.

And then, the moment of truth is there. Sitting down at his desk, Bucky opens his document and thinks _this is never going to work_.

He tries anyway.

An indeterminate amount of time later, there’s a knock on the door, startling him out of his trance-like state.

“Come in,” Bucky calls, a little disoriented, turning towards the door.

Steve sticks his head into the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to disturb you-“

“It’s fine,” Bucky says immediately, rolling his chair back and stretching his arms above his head. For a second, he thinks he sees Steve’s gaze drop to his stomach, but then his eyes are on Bucky’s again.

“It’s just,” Steve says, an apologetic look on his face, “you’ve been up here for over five hours and I don’t think you’ve had lunch yet, right?”

Bucky frowns. Five hours? That can’t be right. He checks the time on his monitor – 3:30 p.m. Huh.

“I had no idea I’d been writing for so long.”

“That’s… good, right?” Steve asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, still surprised. “Yeah, it is. I’ve written-” he checks his monitor again “whoa. Five thousand words. That hasn’t happened in so long.”

“That’s _fantastic_ , Buck. I’m real proud of you.”

To Bucky’s utter mortification, he feels himself going bright red. “Thanks,” he chokes out. “I’m happy.”

“How about hungry?” Steve asks, opening the door further and stepping inside to reveal a tray with a couple of sandwiches and another mug of coffee.

“Steve…” Bucky says, even more flustered now. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Steve shrugs. “You need to eat, don’t you? Otherwise you’ll starve and I won’t just have a dead body in my house that’ll be hard to explain, I’ll also never know what happens to Jimmy and Paige.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Bucky smiles, biting his lip. “Thank you, Steve.”

“My pleasure, Bucky.” Steve puts the plate and mug down on the desk next to Bucky. “I’ll have dinner ready by about seven thirty. If you’re on a roll and want to eat later that’s fine, too, I can just heat it up for you later.”

Shaking his head, Bucky grabs his phone. “I’ll be down by seven thirty. I’ll put an alarm.”

“Alright then. See you in a few hours.” With a parting smile, Steve leaves Bucky to his writing again.

Bucky eyes the plate of sandwiches, the steaming mug of coffee. He hasn’t been taken care of like this since he was living at home, and while it wasn’t something he was craving or anything like that, he still finds it’s nice to be spoiled a little. Especially by Steve.

For the rest of the afternoon, Bucky writes like he’s possessed, and when his alarm goes off at 7:30 p.m., his fingers actually hurt from typing so much.

“Alright, enough for today,” he mutters, saving and double saving his document before closing his laptop. Now that he’s aware of his surrounding again, he notices the smell of food wafting in from downstairs, and his stomach growls insistently. He takes the stairs two at a time, and when he walks into the kitchen, Steve is just putting down some plates on the table. He looks up to smile at Bucky, just as Bucky, who’s been in the same position all day, stretches his arms above his head to work out the kinks. This time there’s no mistaking the way Steve’s eyes drop to his stomach, but it’s only for a split second, before he looks away again. Reflex, probably.

“Wine?” Steve asks, holding up a bottle of red.

Bucky lips his suddenly dry lips. “Please.”

They load their plates with pasta Alfredo, which tastes even more delicious than it smells, and take their food and wine onto the lawn.

“So,” Steve says as they sit down. “I take it day one was a success?”

“Day one was a _big_ success,” Bucky agrees, letting the smile he feels tugging at the corners of his mouth grow into a full-blown grin. “I gotta admit, I was a little skeptical whether a change of scenery alone was going to do the trick. Guess it was. Plus your amazing hospitality skills, of course.”

Steve swallows down a bite of his pasta with a sip of wine. “Nuh uh. This one is all on you, Buck. You’re an amazing writer.”

“I don’t know about amazing, but at least I’m writing again.”

“To writing, and space stuff,” Steve says, raising his glass in a toast.

Bucky raises his as well. “To the very timely demise my writer’s block, and your magical home for helping me kill it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Steve says, and does.


	5. Chapter 5

Even at 8 a.m., it’s _hot._ Too hot, really. But it’s cooler than it’s going to be all day and the weather doesn’t look like it’s going to change anytime soon, so Steve, Bucky and Rusty decide to brave the heat and head out on their morning run anyway. Steve proposes a five mile route to which Bucky agrees, since that’s about what he usually runs. For the first part of the route, the two of them run side by side down the road. Bucky suspects Steve is holding back a little bit, but Bucky is in good shape and he’s not displeased to find their pace seems to be matched pretty evenly.

After about a mile, however, they head down a woodland path that’s too narrow for two people to run side by side. Steve takes the lead, since he knows the route, with Bucky following behind him. And that’s when things get tricky. Because now, Bucky has an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious behind. His ass in his microscopic running shorts, those quads and calves tensing and bulging with each step while his broad back and shoulders are so tempting Bucky has to physically fight the urge to plaster himself against them. Maybe hitch a piggy back ride and hump him a little.

 _I’m being tested_ , Bucky thinks, a little hysterically. _I don’t know why, but I’m being tested_.

It’s bad enough that Steve exudes raw power and masculinity – that alone would be enough to have Bucky panting for it. But there’s also his hair, shining like pure gold in the morning sunlight and, when looks over his shoulder to see if Bucky is keeping up, his gorgeous, radiant smile that makes Bucky’s knees feel dangerously weak…

He’s just really fucked, okay.

He has to make a concerted effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other without falling flat on his face. The longer they run, the more Steve’s sleeveless, grey shirt sticking to his skin with sweat, emphasizing the ridiculous musculature of his back. Steve isn’t massive, not in a body builder kind of way, but he’s strong and naturally broad and so, _so_ beautiful. And Bucky is so thirsty, in more ways than one, that he thinks he might pass out.

And then, finally, blessedly, Bucky recognizes the road they’re on and realizes they’re nearly home. As they round the corner and Steve starts to slow down, Bucky fervently hopes he’ll get used to all this very soon, or every morning for the rest of his stay will be pure torture.

“You wanna shower first?” Steve inquires, propping his foot up on one of the deck chairs and starting to stretch.

Bucky forces himself to tear his eyes away from Steve’s thighs. “Uh,” he pants, trying to catch his breath and kick start his brain. “Nah, you go first, I’ll just cool down a little first.”

“Sure thing.” Whistling for Rusty to follow him, Steve turns on his heel and disappears inside.

As soon as he’s sure Steve is out of earshot, Bucky groans, letting his chin drop to his chest. “Should’ve fucking listened to Nat,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his sweaty face. Well, it’s too late now. He’s just going to have to find a way to deal with it.

One way he chooses to deal with it is by spending a little extra time in the shower, once Steve is done. Bucky feels a little guilty about it, but he’s always keyed up after a run for some reason, let alone a run in scorching hot weather with a scorching hot man. He’s reaching boiling point, and he just really needs to let off steam.

Bucky is already hard by the time he steps under the stream, and once he’s taken himself in hand, all it takes is a few strokes while remembering the way Steve’s ass looked in those shorts, his pink little nipples peeking out of the low armholes of his tank top every now and again, before he tips over the edge. Bucky comes, biting down a moan as he imagines palming that ass and taking those hard little nubs into his mouth to suck on them…

 _Jesus_.

For the second time that morning, Bucky catches his breath. He leans against the tiled shower wall and tries not to think about how Steve would feel if he knew Bucky was jerking off to thoughts of him while Steve’s making coffee downstairs.

Forcibly suppressing any improper thoughts as well as his guilt, Bucky heads downstairs to join Steve for breakfast. He even manages to have a more or less normal conversation with him about the kind of coffee bean Steve uses. You know, wholesome, non-pervy topics. After breakfast, Bucky goes to find Alpine and brings her upstairs to the study with him. She grumbles and hisses a little, but starts to purr like a motorboat as soon as he deposits her on her pillow in the windowsill. That’s the soundtrack to which Bucky starts writing again.

Around midday, there’s a timid knock on the door.

“Come in,” Bucky says, saving his last few sentences.

“I come bearing cookies." Steve holds aloft a tray loaded with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and two steaming mugs of tea. “You drink tea, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, “just not any of that pretentious herbal stuff.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “That’s not tea, that’s just flavored water.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Bucky says without thinking.

Steve just smiles, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “The reason being my immaculate taste in beverages?”

“Yes. That, plus the fact that you bring me cookies.”

“Gotta keep that brilliant brain of yours fueled. Mind if drink this here?” Steve holds up one of the mugs and swipes a cookie off the plate he’s put on Bucky’s desk.

Bucky scowls at him. “And steal my cookies? Ugh, fine. I suppose since you were the one to bring me them you can have a couple, too.”

“Most generous of you,” Steve says, taking a half-bow. Even though he’s barely finished the last one, he grabs another cookie, deliberately keeping eye contact with Bucky as he proceeds to stick the whole thing in his mouth in one go and lets out an exaggerated moan.

Bucky’s brain glitches. He stares at Steve a little too long, rushing to cover up his malfunctioning by grabbing a mug of tea and hiding his flaming face in it. Taking a gulp of steaming tea, he burns his tongue and thinks, _That’s what you get for lusting over your host_.

They chat for a little while about some of ideas Steve has for upcoming DIY videos, and Bucky is kind of touched that Steve actually wants his input, even if he’s possibly the least handy person on earth. Steve has a vague idea about sanding the floors in the kitchen and possibly building a doghouse for Rusty at some point, out on the lawn, so Bucky makes himself useful by looking up some different models on his laptop.

Once Steve has left to apparently to go help a friend in town carry a newly bought couch up two flights of stairs, Bucky continues writing. He’s still kind of amazed at how easily the words seem to flow now, after having been stuck at his fingertips for months but refusing to come out. He doesn’t dwell on it too hard, afraid that he might jinx it if he does, but he does make full use of the fact that the muses seem to be smiling down on him once more.

That evening, after dinner, Steve and Bucky take Rusty out to the lake again. Sitting there on the flat rocks, feet dangling in the cool water while the air is still balmy and soft around them, Bucky feels happy and content.

“This is nice,” he sighs, tipping his head back to catch the last of the rays.

Steve hums. “Especially after a day of hard work, I imagine.”

“Yeah.” Bucky leans back on his hands, looking out over the water. “Relaxing is always better if you’ve actually done something, made some sort of progress. I don’t think I’ve really relaxed at all these past few months. Kept having that niggling worry at the back of my brain that that deadline was creepin’ closer and I should be trying to write, but I just _couldn’t_. God, I hated that feeling.”

Steve shoots him a sidelong glance. “But now you can, right? You’ve been writing?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, frowning thoughtfully. “I don’t know what it is about this place, exactly, but it’s working.”

“Good." When Bucky looks at him, Steve’s smile is open, his eyes warm and genuine in a way that takes his breath away for a moment. “I’m really glad.”

Bucky averts his eyes. “Thanks again for letting me stay here, Steve. You didn’t have to offer but you did, and it may just have saved this fucking book. Not to mention my ass.”

“Damn,” Steve says, deadpan. “I was just going to mention your ass.”

Bucky’s head snaps up, finding Steve’s eyes dancing with mirth.

“Ha ha,” Bucky says, sounding a little breathless to his own ears, even though he knows it’s just a joke. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Steve grins. “But you don’t have to keep thanking me, Buck. It’s not a problem. ‘Sides, I like havin’ you around. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy being by myself, I really do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to cook dinner for two instead of one for a change, you know?”

“I still wish you’d let me pay you or something,” Bucky says mulishly.

“You’re already paying for half the groceries.”

“Yeah, because I’m eating half the groceries. I’m still staying here for free.”

“As my _guest_ ,” Steve tells him, for maybe the tenth time. He bumps his shoulder into Bucky’s. “Although -- nah.”

“Go on,” Bucky urges, curious now.

Steve hums. "I was just thinking. If you really want to give something back, maybe you could let me read your book? The manuscript, I mean, before it’s published?”

The hopeful look on Steve’s face is more than a little flattering.

Bucky licks his lips. “The unedited draft? You sure you want to do that to yourself?”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Buck,” Steve says sternly. “You’re a brilliant writer. And yeah, I’d love to read it, if you’d be okay with it. I kind of like the idea that I’ll be the first person to read it, y’know?”

“Alright,” Bucky answers quietly, giving Steve a small smile. “Yeah. I like the idea of you being the first person to read it, too.”

Steve beams at him like he’s just been told he’s won a cruise to the Caribbean. Or maybe more like a trip to the Louvre, in Steve’s case. “That’s settled then. For the record, this also means you’re not allowed to try and let you pay me for letting you stay ever again, alright?”

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Rogers.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Barnes,” Steve replies, holding out his hand for Bucky to shake.

Bucky can’t help but linger a little before letting go of Steve’s hand, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. Or notice, for that matter.

****

The first week of Bucky’s stay goes by smoothly, in much the same vein. Bucky writes, a _lot_. Words are flowing, sentences, paragraphs and chapters are formed, and slowly but surely, his story start to come together.

As elated as he is to leave the writer’s block behind him and finally make some good progress, Bucky can’t help but be a little bummed out at the fact that he’s not getting to spend as much time with Steve as he’d like. They see each other in the mornings, for their runs and for breakfast, and Steve either comes upstairs for a coffee break, or Bucky eats lunch downstairs. They also have dinner together and Bucky usually joins Steve on an evening walk with Rusty, to clear his head before heading to bed. But most of Bucky’s time so far has been spent by himself in the little study upstairs, with only Alpine for company, while Steve does his own thing.

So when Steve suggests at breakfast one morning that they could drive down to Boston this Sunday, since he’ll needs to pick up a second hand fretsaw there that he bought online, Bucky is quick to agree.

They drop Rusty off at Steve’s neighbor’s for the day, before setting off down route 2 for the short drive down to Boston. Bucky is in good spirits. Excited to be doing something other than sitting at a desk all day, and to give his poor hands and wrists a break. But most of all, he’s looking forward to spending a whole day with Steve. On the drive down, they roll the windows down, blasting music and singing along off-key. Turns out they have a shared love for horrible eighties music, too. Steve hadn’t been kidding when he said he was a terrible singer. The way he looks while driving, though, one hand on the wheel, the other arm leaning on the open window and his hair messy from the wind, more than makes up for it.

They pick up the fretsaw first, which Steve puts in the sturdy backpack he brought. After that, they spend the day leisurely exploring the sights of Boston. Bucky’s been here once or twice, but only when he was much younger. Steve, on the other hand, has lived in Boston for a while, so he’s able to show Bucky a few places a little off the beaten track, for a more authentic, less touristy experience. They do end up spending about an hour in the Museum of Fine Arts as well, because Steve tells him he can’t not visit the museum if he’s in Boston. He offers to meet Bucky outside the entrance in an hour if he doesn’t feel like looking at art, but Bucky decides to come with him. It’s bound to be cooler inside, and besides, he kind of wants to see Steve in his element.

He’s not disappointed. Steve takes him to his favorite room straight away, lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning the moment he sets eyes on the artworks.

“Tell me about them?” Bucky asks, letting his gaze linger on the colorful paintings the room is lined with.

“I don’t wanna bore you.”

“Not more than usual, you mean?” Bucky quips, just to hide the fact that he’d really like to kiss that hesitant expression off Steve’s face right about now. He ignores the dirty look Steve gives him, adding, “I’m serious. I’d like to learn more about them, if you want to tell me.”

Steve’s smile is pleased, almost grateful, and Bucky knows he’s made the right choice.

“Alright, so this here is my absolute favorite,” Steve says, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little as he leads Bucky over to a small painting of a Mediterranean looking landscape in bright colors and square shapes. “It’s a Cézanne.”

For the next hour, Steve proceeds to educate Bucky on the late nineteenth and early twentieth century artistic movements called the Impressionists and the Post Impressionists, and how they related to movements that came before and after them. It’s not something that Bucky, who tends to be interested in science rather than art, would have sought out for himself, but listening to Steve talk, with genuine passion and enthusiasm, Bucky thinks he’s starting to understand why people have been fascinated by art for as long as the human race has existed.

When they finish at the MFA, they grab some lunch at one of Steve’s favorite cafés, before strolling down the Harbor. They walk all the way down to Castle Island, where they spend some time sitting in the grass with a cheap soft serve from one of the ice cream vans parked nearby.

By the time they get back home that evening, having picked Rusty up along the way, dusk is starting to fall. Since Rusty needs to stretch his legs, they take him for a walk by the lake again, where the setting sun is painting the water and trees in a soft, orange glow.

“That Monet guy would’ve liked this scene,” Bucky remarks, and gets rewarded with a look from Steve that’s somewhere between proud and fond.

“Yeah, Buck, he would have,” Steve says in a low voice, his smiling face seeming to glow even more than usual in the soft evening light.

Bucky smiles back, before turning his eyes towards the water again.

Today was a good day.

****

The first days of the week following their Sunday in Boston, Bucky finishes the drafts for four new chapters and draws up the outlines for two more. To say he’s pleased with the progress he’s made so far is an understatement, and when he emails his publisher to tell her the good news, the fact that Maria’s response contains one (1) whole exclamation mark clearly shows how she, too, is relieved to hear it.

Of course, this means that on Thursday afternoon, Bucky hits a snag.

He’s pretty sure it’s a combination of not sleeping well the night before and just having worked too hard for too long, but for some reason, Bucky can’t seem to get the words on paper the way he wants to. He spends a couple of minutes replying to some texts, including his daily check in from Nat that just says _Still alive?,_ and then, instead of staring at the wall like he might’ve done in back Brooklyn, Bucky decides that he might as well take a break.

Downstairs, he finds Steve in the middle of vacuuming the living room, kneeling on the floor with his ass in the air as he tries reach the corners under the couch.

Bucky bites his lip, subconsciously deciding he doesn’t need to alert Steve to his presence right away.

When Steve emerges, Bucky pretends he’s looking out the window.

“Oh, hey Buck,” Steve greets him over the sound of the vacuum cleaner, his face a little flushed from hanging upside down. “Something you wanted?” 

“Huh?” Bucky asks dumbly, mind still on Steve’s ass. There’s something he wants, alright.

Steve reaches over to turn off the vacuum. “You’re usually not down here at this time of afternoon, I mean. Figured maybe you needed something?”

“ _Oh_. Right, yeah. No, I just- It’s not really working today. Writing, I mean. So I thought I’d take a break, see what you were up to.”

Steve hums sympathetically. “I’m just cleaning. I’m nearly done here and then I thought I’d do the kitchen.”

“Need any help?”

“You don’t have to, Buck. I don’t mind doin’ it.”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, but you’re not my maid, Steve.” Taking a risk, he adds, “Not that you wouldn’t look good in the uniform, mind you, but since I’m living here too right now I might as well make myself useful, right?”

Steve just chuckles at his joke, and Bucky doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“If you show me where to find the supplies, I can start on the kitchen while you finish up here,” Bucky adds.

“If you’re sure,” Steve says, getting to his feet in one, smooth movement and leading the way.

While Bucky starts scrubbing the kitchen counter, Steve finishes up in the living room before joining him. They put on some music while they make their way through the kitchen, cleaning everything from the inside of the cabinets to the floors. Even the oven gets a thorough scrub. Cleaning might not be Bucky’s favorite activity, but like this, working alongside Steve while they sing along to classic rock ballads, he could get used to it.

“You know what you need?” Steve asks suddenly.

 _Yes_ , Bucky thinks. “No?” he says.

“A movie night.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea, Rogers.”

“We could watch something space themed, maybe? Get you back in the mood?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky nods slowly. “How about an oldie? _Apollo 13_? Or _Contact_ , maybe?”

“Why not both?” Steve asks, reaching over to give Bucky’s arm a squeeze. “I need to go the store later anyway so I’ll get us some beers and popcorn and stuff.”

“Sounds good.” Rolling his shoulders, Bucky takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out again. “Alright, I’m gonna take another crack at it. Wish me luck.”

“You’re gonna smash it, Buck,” Steve tells him earnestly.

Once again, Bucky wishes he had even _half_ as much faith in himself as Steve seems to have in him.

Fifteen minutes into Bucky’s valiant but unsuccessful attempt to write again, his phone rings.

“’ello?”

“Oh, thank god,” Becca’s voice says in his ear. “I hope you’re not busy, ‘cause I _really_ need to vent.”

Bucky glares at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen before demonstratively turning his chair to face away from it. “I’m not busy,” he says. “Shoot.”

For the next twenty minutes, Becca tells him all about an insufferable co-worker of hers by the name of _Clive Proctor_ (the way she says his name makes it sound like she’s just tasted something disgusting) who has apparently been pestering Bucky’s baby sister for weeks now.

“So of course I told him that just because he’s the boss’s son doesn’t mean that I’m just gonna do what he says. I have a brain too, you know?” 

“That you do, Becs. A big ol’ brain. It’s why your head is so huge.”

“Shut your hipster face,” Becca retorts, but there’s no heat behind it. She sighs loudly. “I just don’t understand why he keeps coming to _me_ with these things, you know? When I’ve made it more than clear I’m not his secretary.”

Bucky hums. “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s just trying to find ways to talk to you, since you don’t usually work together much? I may be gay, but I’m still a man, and this is something a man would do if he had a crush on a co-worker, if you ask me.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a good few seconds.

“Fuck,” Becca says finally. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but before he can say anything, there’s a knock, and then the door opens and Steve sticks his head into the room.

“Buck, I forgot to ask, sweet or salty popcorn for movie night?”

“Oh, uh,” Bucky says, taking the phone away from his ear and covering it with his hand. “Salty would be great.” 

Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit, you’re on the phone. I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine--” But Steve’s already gone. Bringing the phone back to his ear, Bucky says “Sorry Becs, what were you saying?”

“Never mind what I was saying,” Becca says, and, _uh oh_. Her tone does not bode well. “What were _you_ saying? Movie night? Why didn’t you tell me you had a guy over?”

Bucky curses silently. “Ah. I’m actually not home right now. I’m staying at a friend’s place. In, uh. In Massachusetts.”

“You’re _what?_ Since when do you have a friend in Massachusetts?”

“Umm,” Bucky hums, “since about a month?”

Becca lets out a put upon sigh. “I’m sensing there’s a story here. Right, why don’t you start from the beginning and I promise I won’t yell at you until you’re finished.” 

“Sure you won’t.”

“Fine, I promise I won’t yell at you _much_ until you're finished.”

Resigning himself to his fate, Bucky starts by telling Becca about his leaking faucet and everything that happened after. It may have only been about a month since he first stumbled across Steve’s videos on YouTube, but it almost feels like years ago. Already, Bucky can’t really imagine his life without Steve Rogers in it - and that, he realizes with a sinking feeling, is kind of a problem.

“So let me get this straight,” Becca says once Bucky has finished speaking. “You’re staying with a guy you met on the internet a couple of weeks ago, you met up with him in New York _once_ , and then you decided, sure, moving into his house in the middle of nowhere sounds like a great idea?”

“I didn’t _move in_ , I’m just staying here for a few weeks. Just until I finish my book. And it’s not the middle of nowhere. People live here. Not a lot of people, but people.”

Becca hums skeptically. “So I’m guessing he’s that good in the sack, huh?”

“Becca!” Bucky splutters. “ _No_ , we’re not- He’s not- It’s not… like that.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“But you want it to be,” she says, and it’s not a question.

Bucky doesn’t reply.

“Bucky,” Becca sighs. 

“ _Becca_.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“Well, then spit it out.”

“Did you or did you not fall for a straight guy again?”

Groaning, Bucky rubs a hand over his face. “…maybe?”

“Maybe you fell for him, or maybe he’s straight?”

“The ship has well and truly sailed on the first one, I'm afraid” Bucky tells her honestly, “and I don’t know for sure if he’s straight, but yeah, he could well be.”

“But he hasn’t outright said he’s straight or gay or anything like that?”

“No,” Bucky confirms. “He knows I’m gay, and I know he’s had an ex-girlfriend, but other than that we haven’t talked about that sort of thing much yet.”

“Okay, so start talking about it.”

“’S not that easy,” Bucky mutters petulantly.

“Yes it is, and you know it.” There's another sigh on the other end of the line, and when she speaks again, Becca’s voice is softer. “Look, I know it’s scary and you’re afraid of getting hurt. But the longer you let this go on, the harder it’ll be to find out he doesn’t see you that way, weeks or months down the line.”

“I know.”

“So you’ll talk to him?”

“I’ll try,” Bucky says. “I promise. That’s the best I can do.”

“Alright. Now, put him on the line,” Becca orders.

“Absolutely not.”

“Bucky,” Becca says threateningly. “You go find your Steve and put on him on the line – no, better yet, video call me and then find him – or I will call mom the second I hang up.”

Bucky gasps. “You’re playing dirty.”

“That really shouldn’t be a surprise to you anymore, brother dear.”

“He’s probably out anyway, he was about to go to the shops.”

“Well, check.”

Bucky sighs, obnoxiously loudly just to show Becca how unfair he thinks this is, because he actually turns into a twelve year old whenever he talks to his sister. He hangs up after promising to call her back, then does go downstairs. Unfortunately, he finds Steve still in the kitchen.

“Hi,” he says, to draws Steve’s attention.

Steve looks up at him from where he’d been tinkering with something on the counter. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry about just now, I didn’t realize you were on the phone. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

Bucky waves a hand. “Nah, it’s fine, it was just my sister. She actually, uh… would like to talk to you, over FaceTime. But only if that’s okay with you,” he hastens to add. “She just wants to put a face to the name and make sure I haven’t been abducted or anything like that.”

“Sure,” Steve smiles, “is she still on the line?”

“No, I told her I’d ask you and then call her back.”

“Alright,” Steve says, looking at Bucky expectantly.

Damn it. Reluctantly, Bucky dials Becca’s number. She picks up immediately.

“Okay,” Bucky tells her face on his phone screen, “here he is. And don’t embarrass me, okay?”

“When have I ever embarrassed you?” Becca asks innocently.

Bucky just snorts, handing the phone over to Steve, who holds it up at arm’s length in front of his face.

“Hey,” Steve smiles at her.

“ _Ooohh_ ….” Becca says, sounding as if everything suddenly makes sense. “Well, _hello_ , Steve. It appears you are the bandit who has kidnapped my brother.”

Steve laughs, all straight, white teeth and eye crinkles. “Don’t worry. I’m taking good care of him.”

“I’m sure you are,” Becca says, sounding far too amused. Bucky wants to sink into the floor.

Becca and Steve chat for a couple of minutes, just introductory stuff, and to Bucky’s surprise, Becca actually more or less behaves. By the time Steve hands the phone back to Bucky, his nerves have mostly subsided.

“Satisfied?” Bucky asks her. She makes a stunned, wide-eyed face at him, silently mouthing _He is smoking hot!_ Coughing to cover up his reaction Bucky brightly says, “Right, okay, call you later, Becs. Bye!” and hangs up on her.

“She’s great,” Steve says, leaning back against the sink with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You can definitely tell you’re related, she looks a lot like you.”

“But more annoying, right?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Impossible,” Steve says gravely.

“My god, she’s already turned you.”

Steve’s laugh is loud and big, filling Bucky’s chest to the brim with joy. Nothing beats making Steve laugh.

“Alright,” Bucky sighs, hanging his head. “I’m gonna try and get a few more hours in. Dinner and movie at seven?”

“It’s a date,” Steve says cheerfully, grabbing his keys off the kitchen table and heading out the door, Rusty hot on his heels.

Bucky remains standing in the kitchen, looking after Steve and wondering if he’d realized what he just said.

“It’s just a figure of speech, man,” Bucky tells himself, hopelessly. “Check yourself.”

****

Movie night is great, but ultimately uneventful. It’s fun, and it does help with his motivation, but if Bucky had been hoping for some accidental knee-touching or maybe even a classic yawn-and-reach, he’d be sorely disappointed. It’s more like a movie night with friends would be – which, it is. Pizza, beer, popcorn, and banter. And while there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s not quite the same as a movie date.

Not for Bucky and Steve, anyway.

Halfway during the first movie, Alpine jumps off the windowsill, where she’d been dozing on her pillow. She gracefully stalks over to where Steve and Bucky are sitting on the couch with Rusty at their feet, lying down against the dog, curling up in the space between his front and back legs. Bucky nudges Steve, who’s still watching the TV, and when he looks over to where Bucky is pointing, a big smile spreads across his face.

Rusty lifts his head, tilting it sideways for a moment as he regards the soft, small creature suddenly occupying his personal space, then seems to decide he’s okay with it, and burrows a little closer before going back to sleep.

 _Well_ , Bucky thinks. _At least someone is getting snuggles_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: description of a mugging and brief fight; Steve talks about his mother’s illness and death, which happened several years ago.

One memorable Saturday afternoon, Steve decides to work in the backyard.

By this point, Bucky’s flow has returned, so he spends most of Friday and Saturday morning writing furiously. But then Steve starts digging around in flower beds on his knees, just inside Bucky’s line of vision, and suddenly all of Bucky’s focus flies out the window.

 _Might as well take a break_ , he thinks, allowing himself a moment of weakness.

He stops by his room to fetch his sunglasses on his way downstairs, then goes into the yard, sits down in one of the deck chairs which is conveniently facing in Steve’s direction, and pretends to take a nap. His conscience doesn’t let him ogle Steve for more than twenty minutes, but what a glorious twenty minutes they are. He does go back upstairs after that, even rolling his chair to the side just enough so he won’t constantly see Steve in his peripheral vision and be distracted by him.

Not an hour later, though, Steve, who seems to be done rooting around in the dirt, goes into the shed, which _is_ directly in Bucky’s line of vision. He reappears with an armful of large chunks of wood, deposits them next to the sturdy, cut-down tree trunk that’s permanently located in front of the shed, before heading back inside. When he reemerges with an axe, Bucky gasps.

“No fucking way.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he watches Steve place a block of wood on the trunk, lift the axe above his head, and bring it down forcefully on the log, splitting it clean in half. He throws the parts on the ground, places another log on the trunk and repeats the process. Mesmerized, Bucky watches Steve chop block after block of firewood – though what he could possibly need firewood for in early August is a mystery to Bucky, but who knows, maybe it’s a New England thing – and then, something absolutely _terrible_ happens.

Steve puts down the axe, leaning it against the side of the trunk, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, and in one smooth movement, pulls it off, over his head. Leaving him shirtless. Shirtless and sweaty. 

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ ,” Bucky whimpers, watching helplessly as Steve uses his shirt to dry his forehead and casually tosses it to the ground, before picking up the axe again.

Bucky couldn’t tear his gaze away from Steve even if he wanted to, his eyes glued to the rippling muscles of Steve’s back and arms every time he lifts and brings down the axe.

It’s simultaneously the worst and the best half an hour of his life.

When Steve finally seems to deem the pile of wood he’s chopped sizeable enough and heads back into the house, Bucky is so unbelievably, indecently worked up that he all but runs to his room, locking it and yanking his shorts down his hips. The moment he closes a hand around himself, however, he hears Steve entering the bathroom. For a heart-stopping moment, Bucky freezes as he listens to Steve fiddling with the lock on the bathroom door, but he merely locks it from the inside before turning on the shower.

Bucky wars with himself for a good thirty seconds. On the one hand, it would be incredibly inappropriate to rub one out to the thought of Steve’s rippling muscles while Steve is literally in the next room, only separated from Bucky by a measly bathroom door. On the other hand, Bucky is extremely horny, and it’s really all Steve’s fault. Plus, now he has to deal with the added knowledge that Steve is naked in the bathroom, the water sluicing down the glorious dips and curves of his shoulders, abs, and ass – and in the end, that’s what does it.

“Fuck it,” Bucky mutters, leaning back against his pillows and closing his eyes. 

****

During dinner on Tuesday the week after, Steve tentatively asks Bucky if he would maybe be interested in helping him with his next DIY project – the doghouse for Rusty.

“With preparations?” Bucky asks.

“Hmm,” Steve says, swallowing a mouthful of couscous. “I was thinking more along the lines of you being my lovely assistant while I do the actual building work? You’d just be handing me tools and holding the sides steady, that sort of thing.”

“Um, sure,” Bucky says. “So I’d be in the video, too?”

“If you’re okay with that. Totally fine if not.”

“No, I… I guess that’s fine, yeah,” Bucky nods, shooting Steve a crooked smile. “Kind of an honor, really.”

Steve rolls his eyes, self-deprecating as ever. “Sure it is.”

“I’m deadly serious, Steven. First of all, your videos are brilliant, and second of all, you’ve got a _lot_ of subscribers. That’s a lot of people potentially watching me make a fool of myself.”

“Yeah, there are quite a lot of them now,” Steve muses, chin propped on his hand. “I guess people like the laid-back feel of the videos? And Rusty’s cameos probably don’t hurt. People love him, as they should.”

Bucky hides a smile behind his hand. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve thought it was an act. As it is, he’s pretty sure that Steve just genuinely doesn’t know the effect he has on people. And to Bucky, that obliviousness, that lack of vanity, only serves to make him more attractive. Bucky’s dated his fair share of self-absorbed, vain assholes, and even though younger Bucky tended to fall for that kind of thing, older Bucky finds it decidedly off-putting.

“That must be it,” Bucky agrees, nodding his head.

“So, anyway,” Steve adds with a shake of his head, “I was thinking we could go to Home Depot on Saturday to get supplies and stuff, and then film the video on Sunday, out on the lawn? How’s that sound?”

“Perfect,” Bucky says. “Let’s build your boy a little pupper palace.”

****

The Home Depot is located on the outskirts of Boston, just a half hour’s drive away. They park the truck in the lot, which is thankfully in the shade of the building so they can leave Rusty in the truck with the windows cracked open.

Not for the first time, Bucky notices how almost every woman they pass looks Steve up and down. There are appreciative glances for Bucky, too, certainly, but the majority of them are directed at Steve. Bucky can't blame them. When they ask one of the store’s employees, a girl in her early twenties, for directions, she insists on walking with them, openly flirting with Steve all the while. Bucky grits his teeth and tries to school his face, but once they’ve arrived in the aisle they were looking for and she doesn’t immediately leave, he can’t help but bite out a curt, “Thanks,” before demonstrably turning his back to her. Steve is unfailingly polite and pleasant, but to Bucky’s relief, he doesn’t return her flirtations. So after one last, longing glance, the girl heads back to her post.

It takes them less than an hour to collect all the supplies they need – plain, wooden planks, various types of nails, water-resistant covering for the roof, a few pieces of Plexiglas and a couple of cans of paint – pay for them, and be back into the parking lot.

Steve pushes the cart with the bigger pieces, while Bucky carries the paint cans, and they’ve just finished loading the stuff onto the back of the truck, when suddenly, the sound of raised voices carries over from a couple of rows of cars back.

“ _No_ ,” a female voice says. “Get your hands _off me._ ”

Bucky freezes. Steve does the opposite. In a fraction of a second, he’s rounded the car, determinedly stalking over to where the voices are coming from. Bucky forces himself to unfreeze, all but running after Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says loudly, addressing the guy who’s pulling at a woman’s handbag. She’s putting up a good fight, half the contents of the bag already spilled out onto the tarmac.

At the sound of Steve’s voice, the guy’s head snaps up. He’s got the hood of his oversized sweatshirt drawn up over his head, a bandana covering the lower half of his face.

“You heard her,” Steve says, raising himself to his full 6’2” height and straightening his shoulders. Bucky notices the guy’s eyes quickly take in Steve’s form, no doubt realizing Steve is a good head taller than him and about twice as broad. “Let go of her bag.”

“What’s it to you,” the guy snarls, stubbornly holding on to the handbag.

“That doesn’t belong to you.”

“Mind your own business.” He’s shouting now, clearly on the verge of panicking, but for some reason he’s not letting go.

Steve takes a step closer, making the man inch back. “I’m making this my business,” Steve says lowly, almost threateningly.

Bucky holds his breath, expecting the mugger to either run off or pull a knife any second now. To Bucky’s relief, he goes with the first option. Yanking at the bag unexpectedly hard so that it slips from the woman’s fingers, he hugs it to his chest and makes a run for it.

Steve goes after him.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky yells, but Steve doesn’t pay him any mind.

Within seconds, it becomes clear that the thief doesn’t stand a chance against Steve’s trained runner’s legs. Before anyone can really process what’s happening, Steve’s tackled him to the ground. They go down with a thump, hitting the tarmac ungently. During the brief scuffle that follows, Bucky’s heart almost stops – _he could have a knife, what if he has a knife_ – because the guy puts up a good fight. He knees Steve in the ribs, slamming his hand down against the ground in an attempt to gain the upper hand, but Steve pulls it free easily. He’s just too strong for the other man, managing to wrangle the guy’s hand behind his back with little effort and sitting all of his two-hundred pounds on top of him to keep him down.

Fortunately, just as Bucky starts to wonder what now, two security guards come running up to them, alerted by the shouting. After some harried explanations from the woman and Bucky, the guards take over from Steve, thanking him for his help. Steve waves it off. While the thief is being carted away, Bucky helps the woman gather her things off the ground, depositing them into her bag, which Steve hands back to her. Her hands are shaking as she thanks them. Steve offers to drive her home or call her a cab, but she assures them she’s fine to drive.

After she’s left, Bucky darts a surreptitious glance at Steve as they make their way back to the truck and their stuff. He’s not hurt, but he’s clearly shaken up, his face drawn and hair a mess.

“Gimme the keys, Steve,” Bucky says as they reach the truck.

“Huh?”

“The car keys. Can I have them, please?”

Steve nods, digging through his jeans pocket and handing them over.

“Okay if I drive?” Bucky checks, just in case. He’s never driven a pickup truck before – in fact, it’s been a while since he’s been in a car at all – but the roads are quiet today, and he’s pretty sure it’d still be safer than letting Steve drive in the state he’s in.

“Sure,” Steve says distractedly.

“Alright.” Bucky opens the door on the passenger side, gesturing for Steve to get in, which he does without protesting. Rusty whines loudly when Steve enters the car. Somehow, the sound seems to shake Steve out of this funk a bit.

Bucky walks around to the other side of the truck and climbs into the driver’s seat. Steve is petting Rusty with his left hand, absentmindedly flexing his right.

“You okay?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I’m-” He takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. “I’m fine. Just the adrenaline, I guess. Been a while since I tackled a mugger.” 

Bucky huffs out a laugh, not entirely surprised that apparently this wasn’t Steve’s first rodeo. Before he can think the better of it, he reaches over, brushing a stray lock of hair off Steve’s forehead. “You did good, Stevie,” he says. “Let’s get you home, alright?”

****

The drive home is spent mostly in silence, Steve patting Rusty, who’s perched between his legs with his head resting on Steve’s knee, while Bucky concentrates on not crashing the truck.

To Bucky's relief, they make it back without incident. Once they get inside, Bucky tells Steve to sit down at the kitchen table. He’s seen Steve flexing his hand more than once now, so they better put some ice on it quickly or there will be no doghouse building tomorrow.

He takes an ice pack from the freezer – knowing Steve keeps them there for the DIY injuries he occasionally suffers – and wraps it in a clean tea towel.

“Here,” he says, sitting down on the chair next to Steve, turning it so he’s facing him.

Steve gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks.” He applies the wrapped ice pack to his knuckles, wincing at the cold. “Must’ve hit it on something,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with his uninjured hand. “Told you I was prone to getting into fights. Not so much these past few years, but back when I was a scrawny kid walking the streets of Brooklyn every day, I got into my fair share of them.”

Bucky frowns. “When you say scrawny,” he starts, remembering how he wondered the same thing the first time Steve had told him about his propensity to get into trouble, during their lunch in Brooklyn Height's they, “do you just mean less… built?”

Steve snickers. “When I say scrawny, I mean very short and very bony. Not to mention always battling some ailment or other.” He turns looks up at Bucky. “I’ve grown over a foot since my eighteenth birthday, did I tell you that?”

“Since your _eighteenth birthday_?” Quickly, Bucky does the math. “So all those fights you we’re telling me about that you got into when you were a teenager, you we’re were like, what, 5’2”?”

“Yup,” Steve confirms. “I’ve got the pictures to prove it, if you don’t believe me.”

“Hey, no, it’s not that I don’t believe you, I just find it hard to imagine.” Bucky meaningfully looks Steve up and down, noting with satisfaction how Steve’s cheeks turn ever so slightly pink under his gaze.

“If, uh-” Steve clears his throat. “If you go into the living room, there should be some photo albums in the middle bookcase, top shelf. Bring me the red one and I‘ll show you.”

Bucky does as instructed, carrying a large, red photo album into the kitchen and carefully depositing it on the table. Steve opens it with care, turning back the tissue paper to reveal his own, youthful face looking back at them. 

The first thing Bucky notices, besides how small and angular Steve’s form was, is that Steve was pretty even then – even if his nose was a little too big for his face. He already had those gorgeous lips, those big, blue eyes framed by long lashes, and Bucky is certain that if he’d been in school with Steve, he would have had a crush on him, height be damned.

He can’t say that to Steve, though. “I bet people underestimated you horribly,” he says instead.

“All the time,” Steve confirms, not without a hint of smugness. “I may not have escaped unscathed most of the time, but at least neither did they.”

“You should see the other guy, huh?” Bucky smirks.

“Damn right.”

Steve’s face more boyish than usual with the color still on his cheekbones and his hair tousled from the earlier scrap, and once again, Bucky feels a pang of affection, right in the center of his chest.

Thankfully, Steve looks away then, turning to the next page of the photo album. In this one, Steve is wearing his graduation gown, the garment swamping his tiny frame. Next to him stands a woman. She’s about the same height as Steve, and just as blonde, and though her face is rounder than Steve’s it’s immediately clear that this is Steve’s mother. They’re both smiling, Steve’s arm around her shoulder as they pose for the picture.

Steve’s fingers gently brush over the photo. “My mom,” he says, confirming what Bucky already knew. “Sarah.”

“Sarah,” Bucky repeats quietly. “What was she like?”

Steve swallows, hesitating for just a second, before he starts to talk.

He tells Bucky how his mother taught him to always stand up for what was right, about growing up as a sickly kid in a single parent household, since his dad died when Steve was three. How that meant Steve and Sarah were very close, since it was always just the two of them. He tells him about spending lots of time in hospitals when he was younger, and how hard Sarah had worked to be able to provide for them both, and on top of that pay for Steve’s medical bills. Fortunately, around the time Steve turned eighteen, he had a miraculous turnaround in his health and got a lot taller while also growing out of most of his health issues. He does apparently still wear contacts, plus the hearing on his left side isn’t great, and he’s still a bit more susceptible to common colds and the flu.

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?” Bucky asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t mean it in an accusatory way, but it just seems like something he should have known about Steve almost two months into knowing each other and talking practically every day. Though now he thinks about it, while he and Steve tend to talk a lot about common interests, about politics and literature, about pets and food and any random thing that comes to mind, there’s still a lot of more personal ground they haven’t covered. Since Bucky wants to know every last thing about Steve, he’s just happy Steve’s talking to him now.

Steve lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “I guess I don’t like talking about myself very much?” Looking down at his hands, he adds, “And, um, it’s hard, still. To talk about her.”

Bucky’s heart aches in sympathy, with the unfairness of it all. He can’t help but reach out, laying a comforting hand on Steve’s bare forearm.

“Actually,” Steve continues, glancing up, “this is probably the first time I’ve talked about her in two years? Really talked about her, I mean, about who she was, instead of just mentioning her in passing or telling someone that she passed away.”

Bucky feels strangely touched by Steve’s confession. It means a lot to know Steve trusts him with this. Wants to tell him about the person he was closest to. “You can keep talking, if you want,” he tells Steve. “You don’t have to, but you can. I’ve go nowhere to be.”

The look Steve gives him then is warm and grateful, and makes Bucky acutely glad he’s sitting down.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Thanks, Buck.” Suddenly, his stomach growls loudly, and he chuckles. “Guess it’s been a while since I ate.”

“Why don’t I make us some food, and you can tell me more in the meantime?” Bucky figures it might actually make it a little easier for Steve if Bucky keeps busy, instead of looking at him.

So the next forty minutes, Bucky prepares a simple carbonara while Steve tells him about working in an arts and crafts shop for a few years after finishing high school.

Steve would have loved to have gone to college straight out of high school, but hadn’t been able to afford it. He’d kept working on his art meanwhile, in his spare time, and eventually, when he was about twenty-four, he managed to snatch a scholarship and start art school. Sadly, in his second year, Steve’s Ma had gotten sick, and Steve dropped out so he could take care of her, eventually moving to Boston with her. That was the only time in his life Steve ever accepted charity, in the form of Tony paying for Sarah’s pricey treatment and their rent in Boston, so Steve could spend as much time with her as possible. Because she ended up needing to be constantly monitored, Sarah moved to a care home after a while, where Steve visited her as much as possible before she finally passed away.

Just before she passed, Sarah had told Steve that she’d taken out a life insurance policy not long after her husband died. As a single mother with no close family to speak of, Sarah wanted to make sure that Steve would be provided for should anything ever happen to her. She knew the Starks wouldn’t just leave Steve to his own devices, of course, but just like Steve, Sarah had a proud streak. She preferred working a little harder if it meant she was able to pay the policy and make sure Steve wouldn’t have to either starve or rely on Tony's charity if something unexpected befell her.

So after Sarah was gone, Steve had received a lump sum of insurance money – not a huge amount, but still a considerable sum. However, for the first couple of years after Sarah’s death, he’d been unable to touch it. It’d felt tainted to him, somehow. So instead of using the insurance money, Steve decided to move to a smaller town where the cost of living would be lower. He started off living in someone’s basement, doing odd jobs around the neighborhood that allowed him to provide for himself. At some point, the lady he was living with found some of his artwork when she was cleaning Steve’s room, and mentioned to him that the school in town was looking for a new art teacher. Figuring he might as well give it a shot, even if he had zero experience with kids, Steve applied – and lo and behold, he got the job.

For the next two years, Steve continued living in the basement apartment, working full time and spending little, and eventually, he’d saved up enough that when he combined his savings with his modest inheritance, he was be able to buy a place of his own. It wasn’t in pristine condition by any means, and the previous owner had been in a rush to get rid of it. But that meant it hadn’t been hugely expensive and that Steve had a little bit of money left over to slowly but surely start renovating the house. He’d done so all by himself, through trial and error and with the help of the internet and particularly videos on YouTube – which is how he discovered his knack for DIY and came up with the idea to start making his own DIY tutorials.

“And here I am,” Steve says, sitting back in his chair and finishing the last of his white wine.

“Here you are,” Bucky echoes. “And in a pretty good place, too, I’d say?”

Steve takes a moment to really think about that, and then he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say I’m in a good place.” He looks down at the table for a moment, picking at the wood with his thumb before looking up at Bucky from under his lashes. “The company helps. I’m glad you’re here, Buck.”

“Me too, Steve,” Bucky replies, trying to get a hold of his wayward heart. “Me too.”

****

On Sunday morning, they decide to forego their run, since Steve didn’t sleep too well after emotions had run high the day before. After a lazy breakfast, eaten outside on the lawn, Bucky and Steve start putting the supplies they got from Home Depot out on the grass in preparation of filming the DIY video. Rusty, and even Alpine, who’s taken to exploring the yard recently after Bucky had let her get used to it on the long leash and made sure she wasn’t going to run off, immediately start inspecting everything. Steve manages to stop Rusty from lifting his leg and peeing on the wood just in time, explaining to him that thre will be plenty of time to do that once it’s finished and Steve doesn’t have to touch it with his bare hands anymore.

The kiddie pool is packed up and stored in the shed, since it was in the spot where Steve had envisioned Rusty’s new place to go. Once everything is in place, Steve sets up his camera on a tripod, checking the angle several times before he’s satisfied.

“Ready?” he asks Bucky, eyebrows raised. Steve is wearing a black t-shirt that’s at least a size too small for him paired with his faded jeans with the rips on the knees, a tool belt slung low on his hips.

“Any last advice?” Bucky sighs.

Steve hums thoughtfully. “Try not to trip on the equipment?”

“Gee, thanks, Steve. That’s so helpful.”

“Just be yourself, Buck,” Steve says, smiling at him warmly. “People are gonna love you.”

 _Wish you’d love me_ , Bucky thinks.

“Right,” he says, clapping his hands together to dispel the maudlin thoughts. “Let’s get this party started.”

Steve starts with his usual intro and explains what it is he’s going to be filming today. It’s strange, seeing Steve do his thing from this side of the camera, but it’s a good strange. Bucky can’t deny he gets a kick from the fact that he knows lots of people are watching these videos to thirst over Steve, and Bucky actually gets to see it in real life. Even if he’s also pretty sure he’s going to looks like a tool, and not one of the ones Steve is using. He wishes.

When Steve is done explaining today’s project, he calls Bucky to join him, inviting him to briefly introduce himself. Bucky does, in what he’s pretty sure is a highly awkward way, but when he looks back at Steve and finds him beaming at him as if he just did something amazing, he instantly feels better about the whole thing.

Since this isn’t just any doghouse, but one that roughly mimics the shape of Steve’s cape style house, building it takes most of the day. Bucky does his best to be useful, handing Steve hammers and screwdrivers and supplies whenever he asks for them, making sure Rusty doesn’t climb on top of Steve when he’s kneeling on the grass drilling holes in the wooden planks, and holding things steady while Steve attaches other things to it. As he always does, Steve explains every step of the process to his viewers. Today, though, he also chats to Bucky. Asks him questions about the differences between dogs and cats, the merits of having long over short hair, and Bucky finds himself actually forgetting to be nervous about helping Steve do his DIY thing.

They take a break around 1 p.m. to have some lunch, and it’s not until after five that the doghouse is finally finished.

Steve surveys their handiwork, hands on hips. “Good job, partner,” he says, grinning at Bucky as he holds up his hand.

Bucky high fives him, then watches Steve sign off in his usual manner before he finally switches off the camera.

“That’s gonna be a bitch to edit,” Steve muses. “I’d better get started as soon as possible if I want to upload it tonight.”

“You go do that, I’ll make us some dinner,” Bucky offers.

“But you made dinner last night too,” Steve protests. The face he pulls could best be described as a pout and Bucky groans internally. Goddammit, that plump bottom lip is going to be the end of him.

“So? You’ve cooked almost every night since I got here.” Narrowing his eyes at Steve, he adds, “Unless this is your covert way of telling me I’m a terrible cook.”

Instantly, Steve’s eyes widen. “ _No_ , no that’s not at all what I meant, you’re a _great_ cook! I just meant-”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, chuckling. “I’m kidding. Now go on, go edit the thing and I’ll yell when it’s ready.”

“Thanks, Buck. I’ll make sure not to include that bit where you tripped and fell on your ass, as a thank you.”

“ _Hey_. I did not fall on my ass, I merely sat down for a minute to rest my weary legs.”

“Sure ya did, pal,” Steve grins, reaching over to give Bucky’s bicep a quick squeeze and winking at him.

 _Winking at him_.

It’s a good thing Steve immediately turns and heads inside after that, because Bucky.exe has definitely stopped working. He stands there for a good minute until he’s finally able to pull himself together and goes inside as well. Alpine is in the kitchen, sniffing around for food, her tail swaying gracefully.

Bucky scowls at her. “Why didn’t you stop me from coming here when you had the chance, huh? Rude kitty. I’m the one who feeds you, remember? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

When Alpine cocks her little head at him and lets out a small _meow_ , Bucky immediately feels bad. “Oh no,” he coos, “I’m sorry princess. Come here, let me make it up to you.” He bends down to scoop her up, but she starts to struggle immediately, trying to break free again. “Nooo, don’t be mad at me. Let me love you.”

Alpine does not let Bucky love her. She wiggles out of his grip and shoots through the door into the backyard.

Bucky sighs. “I’m a disaster,” he mutters, then sets about exploring the fridge and pantry to see what’s for dinner.

****

Later that night, when Bucky retreats to him room and gets into bed, he plugs in his phone and leans back against his pillows. Steve told him earlier he’d uploaded the video to his channel, assuring him it turned out great, if a little longer than his usual videos. While he’d managed to contain his curiosity throughout dinner and their evening walk, the first thing Bucky does now is go on YouTube and find Steve’s profile.

The doghouse video is about fifteen minutes long, expertly edited to show the various stages of the process in a way that makes it seems both like Steve knows what he’s doing, and like someone with limited DIY experience could probably replicate it. Below it are some useful instructions that Steve typed up and posted in the comment box.

It’s strange, seeing himself on video. It’s been a while since he was last caught on tape, and never in anything remotely like this. But the longer he watches, the less he’s weirded out by seeing himself move and hearing himself talk, and the more he gets lost in watching himself and Steve work effortlessly together. They look _good_ together.

The video finishes with their high five, which is dorky but somehow still cute. Bucky scrolls down to the comments, out of habit. There are a couple of the usual thirsty ones about Steve, some about Bucky (ha), and then, one that says, _It’s good to see you happy, Steve :) You deserve it <3_

Bucky blinks.

What does that mean. Does Steve look happier in this video than he usually does? And if so, why? Or… or does the person who left the comment think he and Bucky are a couple?

“Do we look like a couple?” Bucky wonders out loud, then scrolls back up to the video and watches another minute or so. He supposed they do look very comfortable around each other, exchanging smiles and inside jokes. They’re in tune, Bucky realizes, and his heart squeezes.

This. This is what he wants in a relationship – and yet, he and Steve are just friends. Aren’t they?

His heart skips a beat.

It takes Bucky a long time to fall asleep that night, thoughts and questions going round and round like a maelstrom in his head, before he finally drifts off into a restless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Halfway through the next week, the weather suddenly changes. The temperature finally drops a few degrees, and when Bucky wakes up one morning and opens his curtains, the rain is coming down in buckets.

It takes some getting used to, not eating out on the lawn or taking long evening walks with Rusty. But at the same time, it means more movie nights with Steve, and evenings where Bucky and Alpine snuggle up on the couch together, Bucky reading a book while Steve sits in the arm chair and sketches. It’s disgustingly domestic, and Bucky loves it. So much. It’s not even something he ever dreamed of, not really. Sure, he had a vague idea of what it would be like to live with someone and assumed it would be nice, but he’d never really given much thought to how safe and comforting it would feel to have a routine with someone. It’s everything he never knew he wanted.

Well, almost everything. As Bucky laments to Nat and Wanda on the phone more than once, if Steve could just, you know, _reciprocate his feelings_ , kiss him first thing in the morning, and rail him into next week in the evenings, that would really be the cherry on top.

On Thursday afternoon, when the rain is absolutely _pouring_ down, Steve gets a call from his elderly neighbor about a leak in her kitchen. Naturally, Steve grabs his tools and goes over immediately to see if he can fix it. He doesn’t return until after dinner time, when he walks in absolutely soaking wet, dripping onto the hardwood floor of the hallway and shivering in his flimsy t-shirt, that’s sticking uncomfortably to his torso. When Bucky asks him what the hell happened, Steve explains – over the chattering of his own teeth – that he’s spent most of the afternoon fixing the leak in the roof. Outside. In the pouring rain. Wearing just jeans and a t-shirt.

Bucky scolds him and orders Steve to go take a hot shower while he makes him some tea and heats up Steve’s dinner. But by the time it’s time to go to bed that evening, Steve is starting to burn up.

It’s worse when he wakes up the next morning. It’s clear he’s come down with a pretty nasty cold. For a couple of days, Steve is pretty miserable, unable to do much more than doze on the couch in the living room and watch some daytime television. Despite Steve’s protests, Bucky takes care of him, making him soup and bringing him tea, walking Rusty three times a day and working at the kitchen table downstairs, so he can help Steve when he needs it.

Even when he’s sick and his nose is red and his eyes are watery, Steve still looks good, Bucky notes with despair. It’s just plain unfair. If anything, he’s _more_ attractive, because his hair is all tousled and since he can’t sleep with contacts in, Steve taken to wearing his glasses.

And, _Christ,_ does Steve look good in glasses. He’s like a blond Clark Kent, for fuck’s sake.

By the start of the next week, Steve fortunately starts to improve. His temperature goes down, his eyes are clearer, and he’s able to stay awake during the day.

“’M sorry you had to take care of me,” Steve says as Bucky walks in with two steaming mugs of tea, sitting down on the couch next to Steve who’s propped up against some pillows. “You’re supposed to be my guest and you end up having to do everything around here.”

Bucky hands Steve his mug. “Steve, we’ve been over this. I don’t mind. At all. If anything I’m glad I could do something back.” Settling back against the backrest, he shoots Steve a teasing grin. “Besides, I’m pretty sure there are plenty of women in this town who’d have killed for the chance to make you soup and wrap you up in blankets. So it’s been a privilege, in a way.”

Steve chokes on his tea, almost setting off another coughing fit. “Wha-?”

“I’m just saying,” Bucky says, lifting a shoulder, “I’m pretty sure you’re the town’s most eligible bachelor.”

“They’re just being nice,” Steve protests feebly, ears turning red.

“If you say so.” With another sidelong glance, Bucky coaxes, “So there’s never been anyone out of all of them that you wanted to date?” He doesn’t want to encourage Steve or anything, but in a perverse sort of way, Bucky just needs to know if Steve’s ever dated or slept with any of the women Bucky’s seen making doe eyes at him. Plus, he also promised himself and Becca he’d talk to Steve about this stuff before he left, and since Steve can’t go anywhere, this seems like as good a time as any. “How about that ex-girlfriend you mentioned once. Does she live around here?”

“Peggy, yeah,” Steve says. “She, uh. Well, she _used_ to live around here, but she was actually from England. Old England, I mean, not New England. She had family in town and she came to stay with them for a while, and then decided to stay and teach at a local school. The same school I teach at, actually. It’s how we met. She was an English teacher when I started as the art teacher, and she just… asked me out, one day.” Steve looks a little puzzled as he tells Bucky this, as if he still can’t quite believe what happened. “She was stunning, this whip-smart brunette, sharp cheekbones, always wearing red lipstick. I thought she was way out of my league, but she asked me out and we somehow started dating.”

Steve frowns, blowing on his tea before he continues. “We dated for about a year. It was pretty serious for a while, but then Peggy’s homesickness got the better of her. She just couldn’t see herself settling down in the US, and she missed her family and friends back home. She did ask me to come with her, but I think it was more out of courtesy than anything else. We both knew I could never move to England permanently. Hell,” Steve huffs. “I’ve never even been abroad. I’d also just bought this place and was doing it up, I wasn’t just going to up and leave. So we decided to call it a day.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, meaning it, but also not at all.

“Don’t be,” Steve tells him, with a smile. “It was hard for a while, after she left, but I knew she’d be much happier back home. And I had the house to keep me distracted, which was a blessing. In hindsight, I think this was for the best. I loved her, I really did, but I don’t know if we would’ve made each other happy in the long run.”

Bucky nods. He doesn’t push or try to get Steve to explain, figuring Steve would if he wanted to. “And that was three years ago?”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

“And there hasn’t been anyone since?” Bucky presses. “No one that’s caught your eye?”

Steve shrugs, looking down at his tea. “Just waiting for the right partner yet, I guess.”

Bucky swallows, hopefully noting the use of the word partner instead of woman. Part of him wants to yell at Steve _I’m right here! I could be the right partner for you, if you let me!_ – but he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “You don’t want to try dating apps or anything like that?”

Steve thinks about that for a moment, and then carefully replies, “I don’t think casual dating is for me.”

Which makes a lot of sense. Steve does seem like an all or nothing kind of guy. “Fair enough,” Bucky concedes. “My own experiences with it have been pretty disastrous, to tell you the truth.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, arching an eyebrow. “Any juicy stories?”

“Plenty, unfortunately,” Bucky says, rubbing his eyes. “Let me see… there was the guy who kept going on and on about how he was in a witness protection program, which I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell people you’ve just met on the internet, and of course the guy always conveniently happened to forget his wallet whenever we went out to fancy restaurants he’d chosen…”

Bucky tells Steve about a few of the short relationships he’s had, which were really more like prolonged flings. Nothing ever really seemed to stick. In New York, it just feels to Bucky as if people are always waiting for something just a little bit better. A side effect of the dating app culture, he supposes.

Steve listens attentively, laughing at all the right moments, and when Bucky falls silent, he clears his throat. “So, uh,” he starts tentatively. “When did you know you were gay? If- if you’re okay telling me about that.”

Bucky swallows, trying not to read too much into the question. It’s tempting to think it means something, but it follows that Steve would be curious, when Bucky’s just spent the past fifteen minutes talking about guys he used to date.

“Probably when I was around fourteen or fifteen?” Bucky answers, after giving it some thought. “Started suspecting I was a little different from my friends when they were trying to hook up with the girls in our year while I was just lusting after Leo DiCaprio in The Beach. Hey,” Bucky says, when Steve snorts, “don’t laugh. Have you _seen_ him in The Beach? The blonde hair, blue eyes, that _smile_?” It’s probably closest Bucky has come to admitting that Steve is just his type, but he can’t tell if Steve is picking up on it.

Steve just holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry, please continue.”

Bucky hums dubiously. “Well, my mum and sister took it really well when I came out to them. My dad not so much.” He chews on his bottom lip for a moment. “Dad had grown up pretty religiously, even if my folks weren’t really practicing anymore themselves, so he’d always been taught it was a sin, you know? Took him a while to come round to the idea that his own son was one of those homosexuals he’d been taught to disapprove of. Mom and Becca were great, they really helped to make him see sense, eventually. Dad and I will never be super close, but we’ve found a way to have a good relationship. That’s good enough for me.” Bucky smiles. “Can’t say that it was the easiest year of my life, but Becca was my rock. She was only a teen herself but she really came through for me. Kept me from starting to hate myself and my sexuality, you know? She’s amazing.”

“She sounds a lot like you.”

Bucky looks up, his eyes meeting Steve’s. For the space of several heartbeats, they look at each other, something passing between them that makes Bucky’s chest feel tight, makes it harder to breathe.

Of course, that’s the moment Alpine chooses to knock a book off he coffee table, startling them out of the moment.

“Anyway,” Bucky says, rubbing his hands on his thighs for something to do. “You should rest, and I should get back to work. Only two more chapters to go.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Really? So that means..?”

“Almost done,” Bucky confirms. “The end is in sight.”

Briefly, he thinks he sees Steve’s face fall, but the next moment he’s smiling again.

“That’s amazing, Bucky,” Steve says, all blue-eyed sincerity. “Can’t wait to read it.”

Bucky gives him a quick smile. “Can’t wait for you to read it either. Now, lie down, close your eyes for a bit. Dinner tonight is frozen pizza ‘cause I’m lazy.”

“Sounds great,” Steve yawns, eyelids growing heavy already. “Thanks, Buck. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

 _Yeah_ , Bucky thinks. _Same here, pal._

*****

Bucky has always struggled with endings.

Beginnings are great, he’s good at those – making new friends, starting a new course at uni, getting stuck into this new idea he has for a book.

But endings… Endings cause a heavy feeling in his gut that he finds hard to deal with and even harder to shake. The end of relationships, the last few days of summer holidays, the parts of a book he’s been writing.

The book is done, at least until he gets it back from the editor. He’s glad to be done with it, too, of course, especially since one has been trickier than any of his other books. Sending the manuscript off to his publisher, which he finally does on Friday night, is a weight off his shoulders. But at the same time, it’s hard to say goodbye to the characters he’d so lovingly crafted over the course of three books. And it’ll be even harder to say goodbye to Steve, once he no longer has a reason to be here, in Steve’s house in Massachusetts.

Everything has to end, Bucky knows that. Doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He allows himself a moment to feel sorry for himself. Even cries himself to sleep that night and then vigorously scrubs his face in the shower the next morning to get rid of the evidence.

When he tells Steve the news at breakfast, he does it while making coffee, so he doesn’t have to look at Steve. He’s pretty sure he should look happier about finishing his book than he does right now and the last thing he needs is for Steve to ask him if anything’s the matter. He’s not sure if he’d be able to lie, this time.

“You’re done?”

“Yep,” Bucky says brightly, filling the reservoir of the coffee maker with water. “Sent it off to my publisher last night.”

There’s a brief pause, and then Steve says warmly, “Congratulations, Buck. That’s incredible. I knew you could do it.”

“I think you had more faith in me than I did, honestly,” Bucky confesses. “I was getting ready to accept I’d never publish another book again.”

“You just needed a little push. Change of scenery, fresh air, riveting conversation with yours truly…”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “You kid, but it’s true.” He looks at Steve, makes sure to look him in the eye as he tells him, “Couldn’t have done it without you, Steve.” He deserves that much.

“I’m just glad I could help,” Steve says, ducking his head a fraction. “Although I didn’t do much. You did all the heavy lifting, pal.”

“Nonsense,” Bucky says. “The cookies were invaluable.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “I expect a dedication, just so you know. ‘To Steve, for the cookies’.”

“Done.”

They grin at each other while they wait for the coffee to be done.

“We should celebrate,” Steve says suddenly.

“Sure,” Bucky nods. “What’d you have in mind?”

Steve frowns. “We could have a night on the town? It’s Saturday, so there’s probably live music at the Shield and Star tonight. We can grab some food there and then stick around if we want, have a couple of beers, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “I’d like that. It’ll be good to get out for bit.”

The weather has turned again – it’s not quite as hot as it was in July, but the rain has stopped and it’s pleasantly warm outside. They spend the day at the lake, deciding to go for a swim this time. Which is great. It’s lovely to cool off and splash around with Rusty.

But it also means Steve in just his swim shorts.

After watching Steve emerge from the water, dripping and looking like he’s sculpted from marble, Bucky submerges himself just so he can scream without Steve hearing him. Once or twice, Bucky thinks he sees Steve looking at him too, but to be honest, Bucky isn’t much to look at compared to Steve, so he can’t imagine why he would. Bucky knows he’s handsome – he’s been called pretty, even – but his strong points are his face and his hair. While he’s fit, his build is pretty average, much leaner than Steve, who really does look like he stepped out of the pages of an Abercrombie & Fitch folder. Looking at him now, Bucky once again marvels at the idea that he used to be such a little thing, before his growth spurt hit.

That night, after they’ve both had a shower and put on something nice, they call a cab to take them to the place Steve wants to go to. It’s on the other side of town, and technically, they could walk it, but they’ve just gotten back from the lake and they’re feeling a little lazy. Rusty gets to stay behind with Alpine this time, since it’s just for a few hours.

The Shield and Star is a tavern style bar, with lots of outdoor seating and twinkling lights draped over the tree that are dotted around the premises. There’s no music yet when they arrive, but there’s a stage already set up for later. Steve greets a few people with jovial handshakes and cheerful small talk, before they find an unoccupied table under one of the trees. It doesn’t take long for one of the waitresses to stop by and take their order, Bucky going for the chicken wings and salad while Steve opts for a burger with extra fries, to share.

When their beers arrive – lager for Steve and the grapefruit IPA for Bucky – they lift their glasses.

“To you, for finishing your book,” Steve says gravely.

“And to you,” Bucky adds, “for making the impossible possible.”

“Cheers,” Steve says, clinking their glasses together.

It’s a nice, balmy evening, and their food, when it arrives is excellent. They chat throughout dinner. It’s kind of amazing how they still haven’t run out of things to talk about, Bucky thinks, even though they’ve seen each other every day for the past month. He loves Nat and Clint to death, but after spending a week with them on holiday, they usually need an afternoon to themselves, or at least not talking. To be fair, it’s mostly Nat who needs a break from Clint and Bucky making everything into some inane competition, but still.

With Steve, it’s all just effortless. Bucky knows they can still talk on the phone every day once he goes back to New York, it won’t be like this. He pushes the somber thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment, telling himself to just enjoy the moment. He’s here, right now, with Steve, sitting at a bar on a summer’s evening, drinking beer and talking about their favorite authors. This is one of those moments Bucky knows he’ll remember and look back on fondly, so he wants to make sure he makes the most of it.

And he does. He enjoys the evening thoroughly, right up until the point where someone suddenly drops down in the third, unoccupied chair at their table.

“Steve Rogers,” the woman says. “I thought that was you.”

Steve startles, looking away from the band he’d been watching and back at the blond woman at their table. 

“Sharon!” Steve’s face lights up with a megawatt smile, and when she leans in for a hug, he hugs her back enthusiastically. “Wow, it’s so good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“It really has,” the woman – Sharon – says. She’s smiling widely too, her eyes flitting over Steve’s form as she takes him in. “You look fantastic.”

As if that wasn’t enough to raise Bucky’s hackles, the fact that Steve starts blushing makes his jaw clench involuntarily.

“Look who’s talking,” Steve says, making matters worse. “You look amazing, as always. D.C.’s been treating you well, I take it?”

Sharon makes a face, and Bucky kind of hates that she still looks pretty. “It was tough at first, I’m not gonna lie. The training is intense and I missed home, but I’ve found my groove now, I think.”

“So I assume you can’t tell me anything about what you’ve been getting up to, right?” Steve asks. “Top secret business, and all that.” 

Sharon shrugs. “I mean, I could tell you,” she grins, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

It’s at that point that Steve suddenly seems to remember that Bucky is also still here. “Sharon joined the FBI recently,” he explains to Bucky. “She’s a total badass.”

“Oh hush,” Sharon says coyly, before reaching over the table and holding out her hand. “Sharon Carter.”

Bucky takes her hand, albeit reluctantly. “Bucky Barnes,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Sharon smiles, looking like she means it, before turning back to Steve. “Listen, Steve, I’m here with friends and I don’t want to interrupt your evening, but I’ll be in town again the first weekend of September. We should go for a drink or something, catch up properly.”

It takes actual, serious effort for Bucky not to scowl at that, especially when Steve falls over himself to assure her just how much he’d enjoy that. Sharon tells Steve she’ll text him so they can set up a place and time, and then she heads back to her table – but not before kissing Steve on the cheek.

“Wow,” Steve says, watching Sharon walk away. “I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her.”

Well, then. Bucky is about to ask how Steve knows Sharon, when the band suddenly start to play again - Steve whistling on his fingers to cheer them on - and actually, Bucky thinks he doesn’t really want to know, anyway.

Sharon had seemed perfectly nice, pretty and funny and clearly very accomplished, and suddenly, Bucky feels like stale bread by comparison. She’d also seemed more than a little interested in Steve. And what’s worse, Steve had seemed interested _back_.

In all the time that Bucky’s known Steve, Bucky has never once seen him show interest in someone beyond just being friendly or polite. The way his face had lit up upon seeing Sharon, though, and how he’d looked her up and down and told her she looked amazing… That’s new. And Bucky doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like it one bit.

So Steve _does_ flirt. Just not with Bucky. It’s like a stone settles in his gut when he realizes that Steve probably just really is fully straight. Bucky had allowed himself to hope, foolishly, to read into Steve’s friendly gestures and think that maybe, _maybe_ they could mean something more. That was silly of him. Not once has Steve ever said or done anything to definitely show he was interested in Bucky, too, at least not in anything other than being friends with him. He’d probably just been lonely and had felt a connection – a platonic connection – and that’s why he’d invited Bucky to come and stay. Right now, Bucky can’t remember why he ever thought it could’ve meant anything more.

Bucky does ty to stomp those depressing thoughts and feelings down and focus on having a good time, he really does, but it’s no use. Now that the seed has been planted, the thought is gaining foothold and he can’t push it away again. It must be showing on his face, because when Steve looks back at him over his shoulder after a while, he immediately frowns.

“You okay, Buck?” he asks, concern evident in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky lies, “just, uh, a bit of a headache.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “You have been working really hard, lately. Guess it makes sense all that tension would catch up with you, once you finished the book.”

Bucky feels terrible for lying, but he doesn’t think he can keep up appearances anymore tonight, so he nods. “Yeah, that’s probably it,” he says, rubbing his forehead.

“You want to leave?”

Bucky nods again. “I’m sorry,” he says miserably – that, he doesn’t have to fake. “I don’t wanna cut short your night, though. You should stay. I’m sure Sharon would be happy for you to join her and her friends.” He hates himself a little bit for suggesting it, but at the same time something in him tells him he’d better get used to the idea of Steve as a straight, off-limits friend as soon as possible. Rip off the bandaid and all that.

“Absolutely not,” Steve says, already grabbing his wallet and flagging down the waitress. “I’m not going to let you go back by yourself while you’re not feeling well, Bucky.”

Bucky wants to argue, but the selfish part of him is glad Steve is worried about him, wants to make sure he’s alright. So he says nothing, merely watching as Steve pays for their food and then lets Steve guide him through the crowd with a hand hovering lightly over Bucky’s lower back.

 _He’s just concerned for friend_ , Bucky tells the traitorous part of him that wants to read too much into that gesture again. _It doesn’t mean anything_. Not a thing.

The cab ride back is spent in silence. Steve shoots him concerned glances from the corner of his eye while Bucky stares out the window and tries not to cry. When they get home – to Steve’s house, Bucky corrects himself – Rusty greets them enthusiastically as always, jumping around and barking. Bucky feels bad all over again when Steve shushes Rusty, telling him to be quiet because Bucky has a headache.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Bucky croaks out. “I probably just need to sleep it off.”

“Sure, Buck,” Steve says, still looking worried. “Is there anything I can do? Something I can get you? Some Tylenol, maybe?”

“I’ve got some,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, Buck. Hope you feel better soon.”

Bucky doubts it. This is going to hurt for a good long while. “Night, Steve.”

“Night, Buck.”

****

Bucky sleeps fitfully, and when he gets up the next morning, he’s made up his mind. He doesn’t even have to call Nat. She’d just tell him what he already knows, anyway.

“I think I’m gonna head back to New York tomorrow,” Bucky tells Steve at breakfast, not looking at him as he says it. Steve had fussed over him like a mother hen when Bucky came downstairs that morning, but Bucky, a little more able to pretend he’s okay in the light of day than he’d been last night, assured him he was fine. “Now that the book is done, you know? I should probably meet up with my editor in real life and discuss the manuscript and strategy with her, that kind of thing.”

When he looks up to see Steve’s reaction, he almost does a double take. The expression on Steve’s face can only be described as kicked puppy, and Bucky reacts viscerally to it, his heart clenching in his chest. Steve should never look like this, let alone because of something Bucky’s done.

“But, I thought you-” Steve says, his voice smaller than Bucky’s ever heard it. “I thought you’d stay until the festival, at least.”

For the past week, Steve’s been telling Bucky about the annual summer fair that takes place next weekend, something to do with harvest originally, but at this more of an opportunity for kids to have one last summer hurrah before going back to school. The way Steve described it, Bucky doesn’t really understand why he would be so excited about it, but he figures it’s probably just an annual tradition he likes a lot, excited to share it with a friend.

When Bucky doesn’t reply straight away, Steve continues, “I mean, if you have to go then I understand, of course. Work comes first and I know how important your book is. But um-” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you can, then I’d really like it of you’d stay a little longer. The fair starts on Wednesday, so you could maybe stay until then and still be back in Brooklyn by next weekend, if you wanted?”

Bucky fights an internal war. He knows he should leave, because staying longer will only prolong his misery, but there is just no way he can say no to Steve’s puppy dog eyes, which, to be quite honest, rival Rusty’s.

He deflates. _Well_ , he thinks, _that resolve was short lived_.

“Yeah,” he says, plastering a smile onto his face. “That sounds good. Let’s do that.”

Steve’s face changes immediately. “Really?” he asks hopefully. “You really don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Bucky knows he should probably act a bit cooler, in the interest of self-preservation, but he knows it would hurt Steve, and he just… He just can’t do it. At this point, not breaking Steve’s heart (even if it’s just platonic, because it’s clear to Bucky Steve does value their friendship) is more important to Bucky than not breaking his own. Well, breaking it further, that is.

“No, I do,” Bucky smiles, even though his own heart is aching. “I’d love to stay a bit longer, Steve. Can’t miss this festival, can I?”


	8. Chapter 8

When Bucky opens his curtains on the morning of the fair, the sun is once again shining abundantly, making him squint against the light assaulting his sensitive eyes.

Already, he can hear Steve whistling in the bathroom, and Bucky wonders once again why he's so excited for the festival. Not that Bucky isn’t looking forward to it – it’ll be nice to spend a day in the sun, drinking cider and walking around the fair with Steve, but it’s not like they haven’t spent days lazing in the sun before, this summer.

The past few days have been strange. Bucky thinks he’s more or less succeeded in not letting on that he’s upset. He doesn’t think he acted much different from how he did before, and neither has Steve. Then again, Steve has spent much of the past two days with his nose buried in Bucky’s manuscript (well, with his nose pressed against the screen of his laptop would be more accurate, since Bucky hasn’t had a chance to get it printed yet) so that probably also helped Bucky escape closer scrutiny. Plus, if he’d seemed a little off to Steve, he could’ve easily chalked it up to nerves. This is the first time someone other than his editor and publisher have read one of his books before the general public did, and Steve is hardly just another member of the general public.

Steve is _Steve_. Steve, who’s read all his books multiple times. Steve, who knows almost as much about space and cosmology as Bucky does, despite the fact that he never went to college for it. Steve, who’s kind and funny and wonderful and who Bucky --

The point is, Bucky cares what Steve thinks. He cares what Steve thinks so much he kept shooting him nervous glances while he was reading, but Steve’s face didn’t give anything away. It was only once he’d closed the laptop with a definitive air and turned to look at Bucky, who was sat next to him on the couch, that Bucky dared to ask, “So…?”

“Bucky,” Steve said seriously, eyes boring into his. “That was _phenomenal_.”

Bucky had sagged with relief, blowing out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Really?” he’d asked, biting his bottom lip. “You liked it?”

“I fucking _loved_ it,” Steve said, throwing his head back to emphasize his words. “Gripping from start to finish, totally mind-blowing. I’m gonna be thinking about this for a long, long time. My favorite one of yours so far, I think.”

Of course, Steve could’ve just been lying to make Bucky feel better, but to be honest, Bucky doesn’t think Steve is even capable of lying. He’s an open book – pun not intended – and all Bucky could read on his face right then was genuine appreciation, and admiration, and maybe even a hint of awe. It was humbling, while at the same time making him feel ten feet tall. To tell the truth, for Bucky, that is just what being someone Steve likes and wants to be friends with is like.

This morning, Steve remains chipper throughout breakfast, talking a mile a minute about seemingly anything that comes to mind. It takes Bucky two cups of coffee before he’s fully able to keep up. Steve looks nice today, he notices. Not that Steve doesn’t always look nice, but it seems like he’s put special effort into his appearance today. He’s wearing black, knee-length shorts and a nice, navy short-sleeve button down with tiny little white dots, and his hair is freshly washed and shiny. Not without a hint of bitterness, Bucky wonders if he’s hoping to run into Sharon again, even if she’s most likely back in D.C. by this point. Because his own outfit feels a little too off-duty compared to Steve’s, Bucky dashes back upstairs after breakfast to quickly change from his plain grey t-shirt into an ochre yellow one. It’s a little ostentatious, maybe, but it’s summery. Plus, Bucky knows it goes well with his chestnut locks and makes his skin look tanner. He hates that he still wants to look good for Steve, but he can’t help himself.

“You look nice,” Steve remarks the moment Bucky comes down the stairs. The once over Steve gives him has Bucky feeling hot at the back of his neck.

“Thanks." He looks down at his feet before glancing up again. “So do you.”

Steve just smiles. Picking up his keys, he rattles them, making Rusty bound into the kitchen from the living room. “Ready to leave, boys?” They're dropping Rusty off at Steve's neighbor's again, who agreed to walk him in the afternoon and then drop him off at home again, using Steve's spare set of keys. The fair is just too busy to navigate with a dog in tow, apparently.

“All set,” Bucky replies, following Steve and Rusty out the front door.

They set out on foot. Even with the detour to drop Rusty off, it's not too far into town, and they won’t be able drive back after a couple of drinks, anyway. If necessary, they’ll call a cab for the way back.

As Steve informed him earlier this morning, the fair takes place smack dab in the middle of town. The majority of the rides for kids have been set up on the main square, with food and drinks stalls spread out along the streets leading off from it, towards the park where various stages for live music have been erected. The atmosphere is one of colorful excitement and summer fun and Bucky’s mood quickly improves. He’s thoroughly enjoyed hiding away from the world for a few weeks, but it’s good to feel the hustle and bustle again. 

“Mr. Rogers!” a high voice calls suddenly from somewhere to their left. “Mr. Rogers, hi!”

Steve turns in the direction of the voice, smiling widely when he identifies the source.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Steve says, approaching a boy of about eight years old. The boy is holding the hand of a little girl, standing next to a woman who looks to be their mom. “You having fun?”

“Yeah!” Jimmy beams, excitedly holding up the Spider-Man mask clasped in his free hand. “I painted this myself.”

Steve eyes widen comically. “You did? That looks _fantastic._ I see you’ve really paid attention in my coloring lessons.”

Jimmy beams a little harder. “Thanks, Mr. Rogers. I think it’s really cool.”

“It’s the coolest,” Steve confirms. “You have fun today, and look after your sister, alright?” The way Steve smiles and waves at the little girl makes Bucky’s heart do a funny thing in his chest.

“Okay,” Jimmy says solemnly, scooting a little closer to the girl.

“Great. See you in a few weeks, kiddo,” Steve says, bending down a little and holding up his hand for Jimmy to high five.

Jimmy slaps Steve’s hand with gusto. “See you, Mr. Rogers!”

Steve laughs, then looks up at the kid’s mother. “Nice to see you, Vera. Hope you’re are all doing well?”

“We are, thanks, Steve,” Vera smiles. It’s a flirty smile, Bucky notices, but as usual, Steve seems to be oblivious.

“Glad to hear it. Well, have a good day, guys.”

“You, too,” Vera replies, shooting Bucky a curious glance before walking off with her little ones.

“Jimmy seemed really fond of you,” Bucky remarks, once they’re out of earshot.

“I’m fond of him, too. He’s a good kid.” Steve reaches out, briefly squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

For the next hour or so, Bucky and Steve explore the fair, stopping here and there to have a look at the different activities and stands. There are people offering workshops in anything from martial arts to flower arranging, and various arts and crafts stalls selling handmade, artisanal goods and artworks. It’s at one of the latter that Steve stops to admire some of the things on offer, which appear to be mostly watercolors, drawings and oil paintings. Some of the works on show look pretty good, and Steve seems really into it, so Bucky sticks around, too.

He spends a few minutes browsing the works. There’s a landscape with sunflowers that looks vaguely familiar, but then he supposes lots of people have painted sunflowers, and some cool, brightly colored abstract stuff that he thinks could be something the characters from his book might like to hang in their pods. 

And then, suddenly, he sees himself.

Scene Art by [LiquidLightz ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180473)(click link for AO3 art post)

Bucky freezes, eyes glued to the painting right in front of him, hanging on a hook from the scaffold set up inside the tent.

He’s sitting on a couch – Steve’s couch – his legs stretched out in front of him, feet propped up on the coffee table. His head is bent over a book he’s holding in his left hand, and with his right, he’s petting Alpine, who’s stretched out on her pillow at his side with her head on his leg. The colors are muted; light, polished wood, the white of Alpine’s fur contrasting with the tan of the couch. There are splashes of color, too: the deep blue of the curtains in the background, the purples and yellows of the flowers arranged in a vase next to Bucky’s feet. Bucky had picked those flowers himself, the other week. They’d passed a field filled with wildflowers on their way back from the store, and when Bucky had made an offhand remark about how he never picked flowers before, Steve had pulled up on the side of the road and insisted they pick some to put on the table back home.

He’d used the word ‘home’ – Bucky remembers that specifically, just like he remembers the pang of longing mixed with melancholy the word had caused.

In this painting, Bucky looks like he’s home.

The canvas is small, maybe twenty inches in height, captured in a simple, golden frame. It still has Bucky completely floored. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, rooted to the spot as he stares at the painting. Once he can finally move again, he turns to look for Steve and finds him already looking back at him, a mixture of anticipation and apprehensiveness written across his features.

“Steve?” Bucky asks. His voice sounds thick, and he clears his throat. “Did you- You made this?”

Steve nods, his eyes not leaving Bucky’s. “I did. I just did a quick sketch one afternoon while you were engrossed in your book. Did the rest from memory when you were working.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he adds, “I, um. I hope you don’t think it’s creepy or anything. I just wanted to give you a little souvenir to take home with you, when you leave. If you like it.”

“If I like it?” Bucky asks incredulously. “If I-” He huffs, blinking against the stinging in his eyes. “Steve, I love it. It’s incredible.”

Just like that, the mild concern that had been shimmering just beneath the surface of Steve’s blue eyes vanishes, replaced by sheer relief and excitement. “Yeah?” he asks, taking a step closer. “You really like it?” 

“I really do.” Bucky manages a shaky smile. “It’s beautiful, Steve.” He’s still reeling a little, stunned that Steve took the time to paint him, and from memory, too. And confused. There’s every chance it’s just wishful thinking and he’s reading too much into this again, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought painting a beautiful portrait of someone and surprising them with it, as a souvenir of time spend together, would almost seem like a romantic gesture. Right?

Now’s not the time to think about it, though, with Steve standing there, clearly waiting for him to say or do something. So Bucky grabs his wallet from his back pocket and approaches the vendor, who’s just finished helping another customer.

“Excuse me,” he says, pointing in the direction of the painting. “I’d like to buy that one, please.”

“Oh, no no no,” Steve intervenes hastily. “ _No_ , Bucky. It’s a gift. You can just take it. I just put it here with my other pieces as a surprise, but you don’t have to pay for it.”

“But,” Bucky protests, “you put time and effort into it. I want to give you something back for that.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve shakes his head decisively, gently pushing Bucky’s hand that’s holding his wallet down. “I chose to do that, because I wanted to make you a gift.”

Bucky stares at him, biting his lip. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“Positive.” Steve briefly squeezes his hand before turning to the vendor. “Would you be able to wrap it for us, Mike? Just some padding and brown paper will do.”

“’Course,” Mike replies, suppressing a smile. “Anything for my star artist.”

“Oh, shush. I’m only your star artist because the rest of your collection comes from the over-seventies at Maple Street care home.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re my best-seller.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Steve claps Mike on the shoulder with what, judging from Mike’s wince, is a little too much force.

Mike takes the painting down, wrapping it quickly and efficiently before handing it over to Bucky. “It’s good to see you again, Steve, and…” He trails off, giving Bucky an expectant look.

“Bucky,” Bucky says quickly, extending his hand for Mike to shake. “Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. See you around, maybe.”

“Maybe, yeah,” Bucky replies. He doesn’t say it’s unlikely, since he’ll be heading back to New York next week. Right now, he doesn’t want to think about that, let alone talk about it.

They say goodbye to Mike, before continuing on their way down the street. Occasionally, they’ll stop at another stall to admire their wares, but Bucky’s head isn’t with it. He keeps glancing down at the parcel carefully tucked under his arm, and every time he does, a warm, hopeful feeling spreads through his chest, making his fingers tingle.

When he misses the question Steve asked him for the second time, Bucky gives his head a shake to clear it.

Steve eyebrows draw together in concern. “You okay? Headache again?”

“No, no,” Bucky assures him quickly. “Nothing like that. Just- so much to see, you know?”

Steve’s frown smooths out, a crooked smile replacing it. “Why, have you turned into a country bumpkin already, Mr. Barnes? I’d’ve thought a worldly fellow from the big city such as yourself would find our attempt at festivities a little backwards.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Why are you talking like someone from a Dickens novel, Mr. Rogers? Just haven’t been around people for a while, I guess.”

“Oh, alright,” Steve snorts, mock-offended. “So what am I, chopped liver?”

“No, you’re-” Bucky sucks in a quick breath, holding it for a moment as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. He doesn’t know what he was about to say, but he’s almost certain it would’ve been too much. “You’re Steve,” he says finally, simply, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his own. It’s not what he wants to say, but it’ll have to do. He hopes Steve knows what he means regardless.

Steve’s eyes grow softer, gaze roaming Bucky’s face. “And you’re Bucky,” he says, bumping him back.

“I am also _starving_.”

“Ah,” Steve says, inclining his head. “Now that can be easily fixed.” Grabbing Bucky’s elbow, he starts to lead him through the crowd, back where they came from. Some excellent corn dogs and funnel cake are had and once they’ve both had their fill, they resume their stroll around the fair.

After a few minutes, they pass a stand hosting a shooting game on the main square, rows and rows of colorful toys and stuffed animals vying for kids’ attention. Okay, and Bucky’s attention, too. What can he say, he’s a kid at heart.

He elbows Steve in the side, gesturing towards the stand. “I wanna give this a try. I’m really good at paintball.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, Clint and I have an annual paintball-off,” Bucky explains, making a face. “Clint won last year, but I’m winning the title back from him in December.”

“Well,” Steve says, already heading in the direction of the game, “you’d better get some practice in, then.”

Bucky does, handing the painting over to Steve for safekeeping and a couple of dollars to the man behind the counter in return for a mock-rifle.

“Top two rows,” the man says. “You hit five targets, you win a prize.”

“Gotcha.” Bucky cracks his neck, widens his stance, and aims.

When he hits the five targets with ease, he’s grins cockily.

“Huh,” Steve says, blinking at Bucky with a hint of awe. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Congratulations,” the guy behind the counter drawls, chewing his gum like it’s going out of fashion. “Here’s your prize.”

The prize turns out to be a fairly large, light brown teddy bear, wearing nothing but a bow tie with little hearts printed all over it. It’s… fluffy.

“Uh, thanks,” Bucky says, taking the bear and turning towards Steve. He clears his throat. “Um. So I can’t actually take this back with me, because I’ve already got my suitcase and Alpine and the painting." He nudges the bear in Steve's direction. "You should have it.”

“Oh,” Steve says, licking his lips as his eyes dart between Bucky, the bear and the floor. Slowly, the tips of his ears turn red. “I- yeah. That would be nice. If you’re sure you don’t want it.”

Bucky has to actively fight the urge to scuff at the ground with his foot as he replies, “Yeah, you should keep it. It could go on that empty chair in the corner of your room, maybe?”

Steve swallows audibly, not answering straight away. “That was my mother’s chair,” he says finally. Bucky immediately wants to kick himself, but before he can apologize, Steve smiles softly. “Yeah, you’re right. It would look nice there.” He holds out his free hand, taking the bear from Bucky and hugging it to his broad chest. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime, Stevie.” Bucky can feel himself blushing, but it doesn’t really matter, because he's pretty sure Steve is blushing, too.

They spend a little time sitting in the grass in the park after that, listening to live music and drinking soda from plastic cups. They’ve put the painting and the bear between them, to keep them from being trampled by the kids that are running around on sugar highs. And there are _a lot_ of them around.

It could be Bucky’s imagination, and probably is, but he could swear he feels this kind of... tension, between him and Steve, something that wasn’t there before. It’s in the way their arms grazed a few times, on their way from the main square to the park – innocent touches, usually, but this time, it’s like a tiny electric current passes between them every time it happens. It’s also in the way the glances Bucky shoots at Steve when he thinks Steve isn’t looking have been met more often than not, and how Bucky could swear the reddish tint on the back of Steve’s neck isn’t just because of the sun.

Bucky wonders. Could it be that Steve feels it, too? That buzzing in his veins that has nothing to do with the one beer they had at lunch earlier? The horde of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach, and the way it feels like he can’t draw in a proper breath because of the way his chest seems to have tangled itself into a knot?

It seems like too much to hope for, especially after Bucky already decided to give up on the whole thing. Steve hadn’t shown any sign of interest in him, at least not romantically, despite them living in each other’s pocket for over a month. Then again – stranger things have happened, right? There’s meeting Steve in the first place, for starters. A totally chance meeting on the internet, thanks to a broken air-conditioning unit and a nasty case of writer’s block. Who could’ve guessed Bucky would make a friend for life and swap the confines of his little Brooklyn apartment for the freedom of a little New England town for the summer? Or, after the way it had seemed all his creativity had evaporated in the scorching heat of a New York heatwave, that he would deliver what may well be his best work yet before September had even started?

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Steve says, startling Bucky out of his thoughts. “If you want, we could grab some food to go and walk out along the river, have a bit of a picnic? It’s really nice this time of day and, ah-” He looks down at the ground through his arms, elbows resting on his knees, “it’ll be a bit quieter. Than here, I mean.”

Bucky swallows. “Yeah,” he says, voice coming out a bit hoarse. “That sounds nice. I’d like that.”

Steve looks up, meeting Bucky’s eye. There’s definitely something a little shy in his gaze. Bucky is aware it could be wishful thinking, but he’s really starting to think he’s not.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “Wanna wait until this set’s finished or do you want to go now?”

“Let’s go now,” Bucky answers, “I don’t really like country music, anyway.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Steve wrinkles his nose, and Bucky has to physically hold himself back from leaning in and kissing the slight bump on the bridge of it. Steve rises to his feet, graceful as ever, and extends a hand to Bucky. When Bucky takes it and Steve pulls him up, they slightly miscalculate, meaning Bucky ends up chest to chest with Steve. Suddenly, their faces are very close.

“Sorry,” Bucky says breathlessly, and he probably should step back, but he’s rooted to the spot, looking up the inch or so into Steve’s cerulean eyes.

“’S okay,” Steve mutters, also not looking away.

“Cindy, look out!”

They both startle, backing up instinctively at the noise, which on inspection came from a young dad pulling his little girl back by the back of her bright pink shirt, a split second before she would’ve crashed right into Steve’s painting.

“I am _so_ sorry,” the guy says, lifting Cindy off the ground, “she’s faster than lightning, this one.”

They both assure him there’s no harm done, but the moment is broken. The lingering tension, though, is not.

They pass by the food stalls on the edge of the park again, stocking up on some wraps and fruit salads, and then set off towards the river, gradually leaving the hustle and bustle of the fair behind them. They head slightly downhill, to where the trees start, and in the distance Bucky can see the water glistening in the afternoon light. They don’t talk much as they slowly amble up the path that runs parallel to the water. There are a few other people out here who seem to have had the same idea. Most of them are couples.

It does nothing to abate Bucky’s nerves, overly conscious as he is of every little touch and glance between them. Bucky hadn’t realized Steve was leading him somewhere, but after a couple of minutes, he notices they’ve been going uphill for a while 

“Where are we going?”

“Just a little bit further,” Steve says, gesturing vaguely ahead of him.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, the path ends, dropping off into a mildly steep descent while the horizon stretches out endlessly before them. The distant woods and mountains are bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, reds and pinks and oranges already heralding the imminent sunset.

Bucky stops in his tracks. “Wow.”

“I come here sometimes, to draw,” Steve explains “Landscapes aren’t my forte, but this view never fails to inspire me.”

“I can see why.” Bucky turns to smile at Steve. “It’s beautiful.”

Steve looks back at him, eyes slowly roaming his face. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Oh, boy.

They sit down in the grass, side by side, painting and bear stowed away on Bucky’s left this time instead of between them. Sandwiches are unwrapped and eaten, and when Bucky knocks over his juice, Steve chivalrously offers to share his root beer.

Slowly, as dusk starts to fall and the pinks and reds start to fade into the velvet blue of night, first the moon, and then the stars start to appear.

“Look, it’s Cassiopeia,” Steve says, bumping Bucky’s shoulder with his own and pointing to their left.

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. And Draco, right there.” 

“Oh, _yeah._ ”

Steve leans back on his elbows, so Bucky follows his example, stretching out next to him. They spend some time identifying different stars, and Bucky relishes the opportunity to point out some of the rarer ones that Steve isn’t that familiar with, dragging up obscure facts from the recesses of his brain that no one in their right mind would find interesting. No one, but Steve.

Steve soaks it all up, asking questions and making connections, and before they know it, it’s almost fully dark.

“There aren’t any like, wolves out here, are there?” Bucky asks, only half joking.

“No wolves,” Steve says, “just some coyotes.”

Bucky, now fully stretched out on his back in the grass, turns his head to look at Steve. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Um. Okay. That’s not at all scary.”

Steve grins. “Relax. Coyotes don’t attack people, not unless they’re provoked." He turns his head, returning Bucky's gaze. "And if one did decide to join our picnic, I’d protect you.”

Bucky sucks in an audible breath, eyes fixed on Steve’s. “Oh, yeah?”

Steve nods seriously. “’Course. Can’t let the big, bad wolf eat my Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart goes into free-fall. _My Bucky_.

Their faces, turned towards each other as they lie side by side in the grass, are close. So close that Bucky can see the shadows cast by Steve’s lashes on his cheekbones. His fair skin and hair glow almost silvery in the light from the half moon, his full lips slightly parted. He’s almost ethereally beautiful.

Bucky can see the exact moment when Steve decides to do it. His gaze flicks down to Bucky’s mouth for a split second, and when their eyes meet again, there’s a spark of steely determination there that’s pure _Steve._ Before Bucky’s eyes, it fades into something softer, and then Steve leans in, tentatively pressing his lips to Bucky’s.

Bucky stops breathing. In fact, he probably stopped breathing a while ago, because suddenly his lungs are screaming for air. He gasps, mouth opening against Steve’s.

Immediately, Steve pulls back. “Sorry,” he says, a frown creasing his forehead, “I’m sorry, I thought-”

“Shut up,” Bucky interrupts him, reaching up to slide a hand into Steve’s hair and pulling him forcefully back into a kiss.

This time, when their lips meet, there’s nothing tentative about it. Their mouths collide eagerly, teeth clacking as Bucky parts his lips and Steve follows suit. It’s a little clumsy, but it doesn’t matter. Steve tastes like root beer and mango and something else underneath, something that Bucky’s been dying to discover from the moment he first laid eyes on him. He wants to drown in it.

Steve groans into the kiss, wrapping a big hand around Bucky’s hip to pull him closer like it costs him no effort at all. Bucky likes that. Bucky likes all of this, _a lot._ But _\--_

“Steve,” Bucky mutters, hands frantically roaming Steve’s broad shoulders. “Wait, Steve. Wait, hold on.”

Steve backs off straight away, looking at Bucky with heavy lidded eyes, lips flushed and glistening. A vision conjured right out of Bucky’s dreams. “What’s the matter?” Steve asks. “You okay?”

“More than okay,” Bucky reassures him, biting his lip. “I just- are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Of what?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this? With me, I mean,” Bucky explains, a little superfluously, he thinks.

“I’m-” Steve blinks at him. “Why wouldn’t I want to do this with you?”

“Well,” Bucky says, gesturing down at himself. “I am- y’know. A man.”

A slow smile spreads across Steve’s face. “I had noticed that yes, thank you.” 

“I just mean, you’ve never said anything. About liking guys, I mean. Or about. Liking me.”

The look in Steve’s eyes softens, almost to the point where it makes Bucky want to hide behind his hands.

“I do. Like you.” Steve lifts a hand, the backs of his fingers brushing a lock of Bucky’s hair off his forehead and tucking it gently behind his ear. “I really, really like you.”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He feels a little dizzy. “Me, too. I like you so much, Steve.”

The smile that blooms across Steve’s face is brighter than the moonlight falling down around them. “Good,” he says, white teeth gleaming dully in the moonlight. “That’s good.”

Bucky needs to know, though. “But when did this happen?” he presses. “Not to interrogate you or anything, but I’m just a little... confused?”

Steve hums thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know if this counts, but technically I think I’ve had bit of a crush on you ever since I saw your picture on the back of your first book?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Wait,” Steve says, looking alarmed. “Should I not have told you that? Is that creepy?”

“No, no, not creepy, I’m just-” Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to gather himself. “So you’re saying you’ve been into me all this time? And you never said anything?”

“Wait a minute. But how about you? You never said anything either.”

“Yeah, but at least I flirted!” Bucky counters. “I just thought you weren’t picking up on it ‘cause you were _straight_.”

Steve pushes himself up onto his elbow, looking down at Bucky. “You were flirting?”

“Well, kind of. I mean, I told you I was gay pretty early on, and you must’ve noticed me ogling you, right? I feel like I’ve ogled you a lot.”

“Well, I hoped you were ogling, because I was ogling you too, but I just wasn’t sure.”

Bucky lets out a gust of air. “Right, okay. Maybe I could’ve been clearer. But in my defense, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, because for all I knew you were straight.”

“Well, I’m not,” Steve says decidedly.

“So you’ve been with guys before? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve’s expression turns a little sheepish. “Well, no, I haven’t. Not technically. But I’ve thought about it. A lot." He clears his throat. "I’ve suspected I was bisexual for a long time but, I guess since I’ve never been with a man before it felt strange to tell people about it?”

Okay, Bucky actually gets that, to an extent. “So nobody knows about it?” he asks.

“No. I guess Sam suspects, probably, but no, I haven’t told anyone.” Steve looks away, a little nervously. “I wanted to tell you. I just. I didn’t want you to think I was just telling you to get into your pants or something, you know? That wouldn’t have been fair to you, since you were my guest. Didn’t want you to think I was expectin’ something in return.”

“I would never have thought you’d expect something like that in return, Stevie. You’re far too noble.” Letting his smile turn sly, Bucky adds, “Besides, I’d’ve gladly let you get into my pants. Can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

Steve groans, tipping back his head. “I’m not a mind reader, Buck. How was I supposed to know you liked me like that?”

“I’m _gay_ , Steve,” Bucky says, a little exasperated. “So, _so_ gay.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean you’d necessarily be into _me_ , though, does it?”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “true. But we did hit it off like crazy from day one, and if that wasn’t enough, I mean-” he gestures in Steve’s general direction. “Have you _seen_ yourself? Everyone with eyes would be at least a little bit into you.”

Steve bites his lip and suddenly, Bucky feels like he’s said something wrong. “And I’m not just talking about your body,” he continues, sensing what might mbe the issue. “Not to sound like a big old sap, but there’s just something about you, Steve. You radiate kindness, and _goodness_. You make people want to make you like them. You make them want to be around you, learn from you.”

“And yet no one’s shown any real interest in me in years,” Steve says, not without a hint of sadness. “Not since Peggy.”

“Hate to break your bubble,” Bucky says, “but you told me Peggy just straight up told you she liked you and asked you out, right? Something like that?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“I would bet good money that she’d been flirting with you for ages before that, and you just didn’t notice.”

Steve’s expression turns a little sheepish. “That’s what she told me later, yeah.”

Bucky laughs freely, letting his head tip back. “So I suppose now you’re going to tell me you didn’t notice how Sharon was flirting with you, either?”

“ _Sharon_?” Steve splutters. “Sharon was not flirting with me. She’s Peggy’s cousin, that’s like- _no,_ I’d never- she’d never-” He trails off, comprehension dawning on his face. “Shit.”

“Uh huh.”

“Wait a minute,” Steve says. His eyes turn shrewd. “Is that why you wanted to go home? Were you _jealous?_ ”

Bucky narrows his eyes right back at Steve. “Yeah, I was jealous. I saw you guys flirting up a storm and I thought, _oh_ , so he does flirt, just with beautiful blonde women, not me.”

“I wasn’t flirting with Sharon!”

“Looked like it to me,” Bucky mutters, then sighs, before conceding, “but then maybe I was a bit overly sensitive about it. I guess I just felt stupid, hoping you’d like me back only for you to agree to go for drinks with a kickass blonde right in front of me.”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve sighs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid. If anyone’s the stupid one here, it’s me.”

“True.”

“ _Hey_.”

Grinning, Steve leans down over him, capturing his lips in another kiss, as if this is something they've always done. It turns heated quickly, Bucky pulling Steve half on top of him as he lets his hands roam over Steve’s back, slipping under the back of his shirt, and then Steve – or is it Bucky – moans loudly --

“Fuck, let’s go home,” Bucky pants. “I can’t do all the things I want to do to you here.”

Bucky has never seen Steve move so fast, not even in the Home Depot parking lot. In the blink of an eye, Steve is on his feet, pulling Bucky up as well before bending down to gather the garbage and jogging over to the bin next to the bench.

“Okay, let’s go,” Steve says. He picks up the bear under one arm and the painting under the other, already starting up the path back to town, illuminated by the moonlight.

Bucky laughs, loud and happy. “Someone’s eager."

“Can you blame me?” Steve calls back over his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about this for two months. _Two months_ of seeing you bite your lip and run your fingers through your hair, Bucky. You don’t know what it’s been _like_.”

“Oh, I do, pal,” Bucky chuckles, catching up with Steve and pinching his ass. “Trust me, I do.”


	9. Chapter 9

They make it back to Steve’s place somehow. They even manage not to traumatize the cab driver, which, considering how worked up they both are, is worth a medal at the very least.

The moment they’re alone, they’re on each other, kissing and groping as Steve fumbles with the lock and then stumbling over the threshold.

The sound of barking startles them, making them break apart.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve groans. “Rusty.”

Bucky rests his forehead against Steve’s, panting a little. “Just let him out onto the lawn just this once?”

It’s a testament to just how desperate Steve is at this point that he agrees without protest. They both bend down to greet Rusty, because they can’t not, and then Steve herds the dog to the backdoor and lets him out into the backyard. Fortunately, Rusty does his business quickly and is back inside within minutes.

“Good boy,” Steve praises, throwing Rusty a dog biscuit which he expertly catches. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. I just have… grown up stuff to do tonight.”

Rusty whines in response, but seems to understand that that’s all he’s getting for now, so he retreats to the living room, probably to find Alpine and snuggle.

Bucky watches the exchange with a fondness that he can finally let show on his face, instead of having to keep it in check. It’s freeing.

“What?” Steve asks, when he sees Bucky smiling. “What’d I do?”

“Nothin’,” Bucky says. “You’re just cute, talking to your dog.”

Steve tilts his head. “You think I’m cute?”

“Very.”

“Coming from the cutest and prettiest guy I know, that’s high praise.”

Bucky can’t help it; he feels his cheeks heat up. “Pretty, huh?”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says, sidling up to him closely. With the tip of his finger, he traces the lines of Bucky’s nose, his brows, his cheekbones, the dip in his chin. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty. And sweet. Funny. Sexy as hell.” Steve fingers close loosely around Bucky’s chin, pulling him closer. “You’re kind of amazing, actually,” he mutters against his lips, before kissing him again.

This time, when the kiss turns heated, they let it.

“Do you… maybe wanna take this to your… bedroom?” Bucky suggests in between kisses. He pulls back to look at Steve. “Totally fine if you don’t, by the way. We can take this as fast or as slow as you want.”

“What about what you want?” Steve asks, always the gentleman.

“It’s not _my_ first time with a guy. I want anything you want to give me, but you have to determine the pace, okay? I don’t wanna accidentally pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. If you need us to take it slow, then that’s totally fine with me.”

“Okay,” Steve says, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Sounds good. But what if I don’t want to take it slow?’

Bucky grins, raking his fingers through Steve’s soft, blond locks. “You don’t?”

“I really, really don’t. God, Bucky, I’ve never jerked off as much in my life as I have in the past few weeks, not even when I was a teenager. I want everything you want to give me, too. If that’s okay.”

Bucky thinks he possibly goes a little cross-eyed at that. “Jesus, Steve. Fuck. I thought I was the only one. If I had known…”

“What would you have done? Joined me in the shower?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that, Steve,” Bucky groans, pressing Steve up against the kitchen counter. “Makes me wanna rip these clothes off you.”

“Go right ahead. I personally think we’re both overdressed.”

Bucky doesn’t have to be told a second time. He reaches for the buttons on Steve’s shirt, fingers fumbling, clumsy with eagerness. He could just rip, but it’s a nice shirt and Steve looks handsome in it. When he finally gets the shirt open, he immediately takes the opportunity to run his hands up the smooth planes of Steve’s sculpted abs, up and up until he’s downright palming Steve’s glorious pecs, dusted with soft, blond hair. His fingers teasingly brush teasingly over those pretty, pink nipples, making Steve suck in a shaky breath.

“You have no idea how often I’ve thought about doing this,” Bucky says, eyes fixed on his own hands on Steve’s chest. “Drove me crazy, going on those morning runs with you and seeing you all flushed and sweaty, all that muscle and smooth skin, _fuck_.”

“I think you’re forgetting that you were also wearing skimpy shorts,” Steve says, running his hands down Bucky’s back and resting them on his ass. “You have legs for miles, you know that? Not to mention this.” He gives Bucky’s ass a quick squeeze, making Bucky move up on his tip toes so he’s pressed even closer against Steve. The proximity makes it very clear how into this they both are, and suddenly urgency is dialed up a notch.

“Come on,” Bucky says, grabbing Steve’s hand and pulling him in the direction of the hallway, “let’s go upstairs.”

Steve hands stay on Bucky’s hips while he climbs the stairs, and as soon as they’re on the landing, Steve backs him up against the wall. He kisses Bucky deeply, grinding against him.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpers, letting his had thud back against the wall as Steve starts to kiss his way up the column of his neck. Bucky uses the limited presence of mind he has left to push Steve’s open shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop carelessly to the floor. Steve’s shoulders feel huge under his touch, the muscle rippling under smooth skin every time he moves. “You’re so _big._ Do you have any idea what it was like to watch you wear those tiny shirts of yours all the time while you were being all strong and competent? God, that time you were you were chopping wood…”

“Oh,” Steve says, “so you did notice that, huh?”

Bucky stills, pulling back as much as their positions allow him so he can look Steve in the eye. “What the fuck, you did that on purpose?”

Steve grins, a hint of a blush high on his cheekbones. “Maybe.”

“You little shit,” Bucky marvels. “You almost killed me, you know. I should’ve just died and left you to deal with a dead body in your house after all. Would’ve been just what you deserved.”

“Please,” Steve scoffs. “Like you weren’t always stretching and showing off your abs on purpose.”

“I don’t even really _have_ abs.”

“Yes, you do.” Steve grabs the hem of Bucky’s shirt and starts to pull it up, forcing Bucky to lift his arms so Steve can yank the garment up and off. It joins Steve’s discarded shirt on the floor. “Look at you, Buck,” Steve says, eyes lingering on Bucky’s exposed torso. “You’re beautiful.”

A full body blush spreads from Bucky’s face all the way down his chest, his skin feeling tight and tingly under Steve’s appreciative gaze. To divert attention from himself, Bucky let’s his hands slip down to the buckle of Steve’s belt, unfastening it before he looks up at Steve through his eyelashes.

“Can I?”

“Uh huh,” Steve breathes, eyes big and dark. “Yeah. Please.”

Slowly, Bucky pulls down the zipper, slipping his hand inside Steve’s shorts and curling his fingers around Steve’s hard length, straining in his boxers. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Steve groans letting his head drop back.

“There’s just a lot of you all over, isn’t there?”

“Uh huh,” Steve says again. “Is that- I mean, is that okay?”

Bucky squeezes Steve’s dick again, gently massaging it through the fabric. There’s already a wet spot forming near the waistband. “That’s perfect, Steve. Gonna feel so good in my mouth.”

Steve whimpers, rocking his hips into Bucky’s hand, desperate for more friction. “You don’t have to,” he breathes. “I mean, I’d really, really like it if you did, but I’m not expecting you to or anything.”

“I know,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss Steve sweetly on the lips. “But I’m gonna.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Yes. That’s great.”

“Bed?”

“Bed,” Steve repeats, turning them around and walking Bucky backwards toward his bedroom on the other side of the landing. Steve flicks on the light, but quickly turns it off again. “Ugh, too bright.” Reluctantly, he lets go of Bucky to close his curtains and turn on his bedside lamps.

While Steve busies himself doing that, Bucky has a brief internal discussion about whether or not he should just get naked, and eventually decides what the hell, right? Quickly, he toes off his shoes and socks, then opens his belt and drops his pants and underwear in one go, kicking them to the side.

When Steve turns around and sees him standing stark naked in the middle of the room, his eyes turn dark, gaze roaming hungrily up and down Bucky’s body. “Wow.”

“Thanks,” Bucky mutters, feeling bashful but forcing himself not to avert his eyes. He nods towards Steve’s nether regions. “Your turn.”

Naked Steve is… Well, he’s a sight to behold. Perfect from head to toe, all strong lines and gentle curves, powerful limbs and the _tiniest_ hips Bucky’s ever seen on a man. The shoulder to waist ratio of him is obscene.

But it’s Steve’s cock, big and thick and hard, curving up towards his stomach, that Bucky’s eyes finally home in on. He can practically taste it already.

“Lie back on the bed,” he instructs, walking closer to Steve. Steve scrambles to do as he’s told, climbing on the bed on his hands and knees first – giving Bucky a truly spectacular view of his ass that burns itself into his mind – before flipping over and scooting back towards the headboard.

“Like this?” Steve asks, a little breathlessly.

“Perfect.” Bucky lets his gaze trail over Steve’s naked body before he gets on the bed, too. He settles between Steve’s legs, running his hands up from his calves up his powerful thighs, resting them on either side of Steve’s hips. “Normally I’d take it slow, but I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says quickly, looking down his own body at Bucky, kneeling between his spread legs. “Not slow is fine by me.”

“Good,” Bucky says, then wraps the fingers of his right hand around Steve’s length, bends down, and takes him into his mouth. The sound Steve makes when Bucky’s lips close around his dick is something else Bucky isn’t going to forget any time soon, low and guttural, more like a grunt than a groan. Steve’s hands first themselves into the sheets on either side of him, so Bucky grabs Steve’s right hand with his left and lifts it, placing it on his head. Immediately, Steve’s fingers curl into his hair, his grip tight but not painfully so. Just the right amount.

The weight of Steve’s cock on his tongue is satisfying, as is the way its girth makes Bucky’s mouth feel full and his lips stretched. The taste of Steve’s precome is a burst of a burst salty-bitter on his tongue, sharp but not unwelcome. It’s been so long since Bucky’s done this to anyone, especially anyone he actually liked, that he’d almost forgotten how much he liked it. But god, does he like it. And he’s good at it, too.

Judging by the sounds he’s is making, Steve agrees. Already, his legs are quivering, muscles of his stomach tensed under Bucky’s free hand, which he planted there for support. Steve’s abs are so hard, he might as well be leaning on a slab of concrete. Bucky sinks down further, taking Steve a little deeper down his throat while he uses his lips to create suction. His right hand moves leisurely up and down Steve’s shaft in time with the bobbing of his head, keeping up a constant rhythm of friction and slick, hot suction that has Steve making the most beautiful, unintentional sounds.

“Oh my god,” Steve moans, “Bucky, Jesus, _uhh_.”

Not taking his mouth of Steve’s dick, Bucky hums in reply, noting with satisfaction how that causes a shiver to run through Steve’s entire body. Bucky is really getting into it now, letting his tongue curl deviously around the head, then sucking around it with a little more force-

And suddenly, Steve’s hand tightens in Bucky’s hair, trying to pull him off. “Oh fuck, oh, _oh_ , I’m- gonna, _Bucky_ ….”

Bucky’s name turns into a long, drawn out groan as Steve starts to come, shooting off inside Bucky’s mouth, since he refuses to let himself be pulled off. Bucky moans as he swallows it all down, keeping Steve in his mouth for as long as possibly, until he goes lax against the mattress and lets out a little whimper.

Bucky finally comes up for air, sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Steve groans, throwing one of his massive arms over his eyes. “Shit, I didn’t mean to- I just…”

“Hey, Steve, hey. It’s okay,” Bucky shushes him. “It’s completely fine. I’d have been the same in your position, believe me.” He shrugs. “Plus, it’s kinda flattering. It’s nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Steve huffs an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, no kidding. I think you actually sucked my brains out. My head feels empty.”

Bucky hums dubiously. “I don’t think that’s anything out of the ordinary for you.”

Steve grabs the pillow from under his head and gently swats Bucky with it. Bucky giggles, feeling happy and satisfied just from making Steve feel good, even if his own dick is still begging for attention.

“I’m still sorry, though,” Steve says again, a little more seriously now. “Should’ve tried harder to hold it off.”

Bucky waves a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. We don’t have to do everything tonight, we can go again in the morning if we want.”

“No, wait,” Steve protests, propping himself up on his elbows. “Just. Give me a couple of minutes. I’m pretty sure I can go again. My drive has been crazy lately.”

Bucky blinks at him. “Really?” He crawls over Steve on his hands and knees, until their eyes are level.

“Really,” Steve nods, reaching up to slide his fingers into Bucky’s hair again, brushing it away from his face. “Don’t act so surprised. I said those shorts drove me wild and I meant it. Not to mention your mouth…” He leans up, capturing Bucky’s lips in a deep, messy kiss that has all of Bucky’s thoughts evaporating into thin air. Bucky lets himself drops down on top of Steve, and they spend the next couple of minutes lazily making out, Bucky trying hard not to hump Steve’s thigh like a dog in heat. Gradually, Bucky can feel Steve hardening again against him.

“What else did you have in mind?” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips.

“Told you,” Steve answers. “Anything you want to give me.”

Bucky pulls back to look down at Steve. “Yeah? You sure? ‘Cause personally,” he says, reaching down between them to cup his hand around Steve’s rapidly fattening cock again. “I’d really like for you to stick this in me.”

Steve’s eyes actually roll back a bit, his breath hitching. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Is that something you’d be up for?” Bucky checks, even if Steve’s reaction tells him he probably is. “Doesn’t have to be now, though. I know it’s a lot, especially for your first time like this.”

“Uh,” Steve says, blinking rapidly. “No, now would be good. For me. If it is for you.”

Bucky grins slowly. “Amazing. Please tell me you have lube and condoms.”

“Bottom drawer,” Steve answers immediately. “I didn’t want to presume, but I did want to be prepared. Just in case.”

“A true boy scout,” Bucky smiles, ducking his had to peck Steve’s lips before lifting himself off and grabbing what he needs from Steve’s bedside table.

Because this bit is still new to Steve, Bucky decides to prep himself. With any luck, there will be plenty of time in the future to teach Steve the tricks of the trade, but right now, Bucky just wants for things to _happen_. He does make sure to put on a bit of a show, though. Biting his lip as he lies back, he spreads his legs wide and cups his cock and balls with one hand, pressing them up against his abdomen while he teases himself with the slicked up fingers of his right hand, before finally pressing them inside.

Steve is his captive audience, eyes never once leaving Bucky’s body as Bucky opens himself up. He’s a little quicker about it than he might normally be, just because he can’t wait to have Steve inside him, working himself up to four fingers. That should do it. Steve is fully hard again by now, so he snatches a condom off the mattress and rolls it on while Bucky wipes his fingers on the towel Steve fetched him from the bathroom. After some deliberation, not very sexy, but very necessary, Bucky ends up on top, since that leaves him better able to control the pace. Despite Bucky’s prepping, Steve worries he might otherwise hurt Bucky, which is a legitimate worry because Steve is _hung_.

Steve lies back against the pillows that are stacked against the headboard while Bucky straddles him, knees planted on the mattress on either side of Steve’s waist.

“Ready?” he asks, reaching down to steady Steve’s dick as he hovers over him.

Steve lets out a breathless laugh. “I’m so fucking ready.”

“Thank god,” Bucky sighs, and starts sinking down on Steve’s length. He goes slow, agonizingly so, because Steve is not just long, but thick, too. Despite how badly he wants to have all of it inside of him, he knows he has to be careful. The burn of the stretch is uncomfortable at first, it always is, but the moment it shifts from slightly painful to just hot and full, so _full_ , Bucky lets out a long, pleased sigh. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Uh huh,” Steve grits out, jaw clenched. “’S good for me, too. Jesus _Christ,_ Bucky, you’re so fucking tight. I’m so glad I already came once, or this would be over real quick.”

Bucky chuckles breathlessly as he bottoms out. They catch their breath for a moment, Bucky letting his body adjust, before lifting himself up just an inch and slowly pressing down again. The slick slide is delicious, Steve’s cock hot and hard inside of him and pressing against his walls in the best of ways. Bucky finds a rhythm, riding Steve lazily with his hands propped on Steve’s shoulders. When he experimentally clenches as he sinks down, Steve moans noisily, his fingers curling around Bucky’s hipbones as he throws back his head.

As always, Bucky’s eyes home in on the lines of Steve’s exposed throat, the tendons standing out and making Bucky want to bite down on them, and this time, he can, so he does. Steve lifts his arms, winding around Bucky’s torso, his hips bucking up, burying himself deeper inside of Bucky.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Bucky breathes into the crook of Steve’s neck, “do that again.”

Steve holds him, tightly pressed against his chest as he fucks up into him, breath hot and wet on Bucky’s ear as he grunts with each thrust. It’s so fucking good it makes Bucky’s toes curl. When Steve’s hips start to snap a little faster, Bucky moans, trying to grind down and meet Steve’s thrusts.

Suddenly, Steve moves below him, grabbing hold of Bucky and flipping him around. Just manhandling him onto his back like a rag doll, so he is now on top.

“Holy shit,” Bucky whimpers, and then, when Steve guides his own dick back into Bucky’s hole, “ _holy shit_.”

Steve doesn’t waste any time, for which Bucky is grateful. He just slides home, filling him up so good Bucky can feel it in his teeth. “Yeah, c’mon,” he urges, digging his fingers into the meat of Steve’s ass, fuck me good, _please_.”

With a grunt, Steve snaps his hips forward, and Bucky’s back arches, canting his hips so Steve is nailing his prostate dead on. “Oh fuck,” Bucky yells, “right there, yes, _Steve_!”

It seems Steve is an attentive lover and a fast learner, because practically every stroke from then on is right on the money. His hips move steadily, thrusts forceful and deep and good enough to make Bucky’s eyes roll back as he tries not to lose it. When Steve takes Bucky’s dick in hand, his poor, throbbing, neglected dick, Bucky knows he won’t hold out much longer.

“Hhnnggrr,” he says.

“You close?” Steve pants, his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead in a way that should look stupid, but really only makes him hotter. Flustered. Debauched. 

Bucky can only nod, incapable of speech. He’s so close he can taste it on the tip of his tongue.

And then Steve growls, “Come on, baby. Do it,” and Bucky’s already sex-addled brain shuts off completely at the endearment.

Bucky comes with a shout, shooting off all over Steve’s hand, his own stomach – he thinks he might even feel some of it hitting his chin. Even though every atom of his body is singing in pleasure as his release washes through him, he distantly feels Steve stiffen above him, a low, guttural sound leaving him as he comes deep inside of Bucky before collapsing on top of him.

When Bucky can feel his arms again, he lifts them to hug Steve’s broad torso, leisurely stroking his sweaty back.

“Hmmm,” Steve says, when he finally stirs. “Shit, am I crushing you?”

“Only a little,” Bucky answers truthfully. It’s a bit hard to breathe, but it’s worth it for having Steve so close.

Steve does roll off of him then, but he doesn’t go far. Bucky winces when he pulls out, making a face as his body gets used to being empty again, while Steve quickly takes and ties off the condom, dropping it next to the bed. Steve grabs the towel from the nightstand, too, giving his hand and Bucky’s torso a cursory wipe down.

“So,” Steve sighs as he settles next to Bucky again, pulling him under one of his massive arms. “I hope you’re not too sore because we’re gonna have to do that at least ten more times before you leave.”

As soon as Steve’s said the words, Bucky can feel him go still.

“Are you…” Steve says, looking at the ceiling instead of at Bucky. “Are you still leaving tomorrow?”

Bucky swallows. “If you want me too, yeah.”

“But if I wanted you to stay longer. Would you?”

Turning his head to look at Steve, Bucky waits until Steve looks back at him before whispering, “I’d stay as long as you’d have me, Steve.”

The smile that blooms across Steve’s face isn’t instant or big or buoyant. It’s slow, small, but full of genuine joy, eyes shining bright with the strength of his emotions. 

“I like the sound of that,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off Bucky’s. “’Cause I’m kind of crazy about you, Bucky Barnes.”

And after that, what choice does Bucky have but to kiss him again? So he does, slowly and deeply, so Steve will know just how crazy Bucky Barnes is about Steve Rogers, too.

****

**Three and a half months later**

There’s a tree in Steve’s living room the size of a small rocket.

Bucky helped him pick it. They’d gone down to the tree farm together, and while Steve would’ve gone for a smaller one himself, Bucky had been enamored with this one from the moment he set eyes on it. When he told Steve he hadn’t had a Christmas tree since he moved out of his parents’ house, Steve had instantly decided Bucky should have whatever he wanted. If he wanted a big one, Steve would give him a big one. So they’d paid for the tree, and then Steve had cut it down himself (it was that kind of farm) while Bucky stood to the side with his hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot cocoa and watched him appreciatively. It had been just the tiniest bit embarrassing, especially since Bucky had not been silent in his appreciation, but the spectacular head Steve had received the moment they got home, before they’d even put up the tree, had made it more than worth it.

They did eventually decorate the tree, which is now sparkling and shining like nobody’s business. Spreading festive cheer with its assortment of lights, baubles, tinsel and trinkets – among other things, little star, moon, and planet ornaments that Bucky had ordered online from NASA’s web shop as a surprise for Steve. Sam had come down a few days after they got the tree, having managed to wrangle a few extra days of Christmas leave. He and Bucky had gotten on like a house on fire. An actual house on fire – those two were together were a _hazard_ , Steve had quickly learned. They’d ganged up on him from the moment they shook hands, ribbing Steve mercilessly about his habit of tidying up everything immediately after using it and his tendency to run to the aid of every little old lady who needed help carrying her groceries ever.

When Steve told him about Bucky, Sam had been brilliantly unbothered by the fact that Steve suddenly had a boyfriend. Sam was happy for him, of course, but apart from the slight widening of his eyes, nothing in his reaction had betrayed any kind of surprise or judgement. He just acted like it was the most normal thing in the world, which, Steve supposes, it is.

Steve had met some of Bucky’s friends, too, while he was visiting Bucky in New York in October. That had been before they’d decided commuting was a pain in the ass (especially when you’re very much in love and want to spend every waking moment with your hands down someone’s pants) and that, since Bucky’s work didn’t require him to be in New York specifically, he might as well just move in with Steve. After all, Steve had all that space that he didn’t really use, plus it would help Bucky save on rent. It was a purely pragmatic decision, really. Nothing to do with the fact that Steve knows with absolute certainty, down to the marrow of his bones, that Bucky is the love of his life and they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

So, Bucky had ended the lease on his apartment, packed up his stuff with the help of Natasha and Clint, and had most of it – apart from the things he’d gotten rid of because he wouldn’t need them anymore, most importantly his bed – driven up to Massachusetts. And, okay, maybe moving in together five months after meeting someone would normally be considered a little premature. Bucky’s parents certainly seemed to think so, when he’d told them the news over Thanksgiving. Steve, who had anticipated this based on what Bucky had told him about them, had given Bucky a handwritten letter to give to them, in which he explained to the best of his limited writerly abilities (that was more Bucky’s strength) how his intentions with their son were nothing but honorable and they were very welcome to come visit anytime they liked, to see for themselves that Steve would always be doing his very best to make sure Bucky was happy and cared for. Winnie, especially, had instantly warmed to Steve after that, and once Bucky had told his dad Steve was a DIY genius and would gladly help him fix up the shed next summer, George had come around, too.

Today, on Christmas Day, Bucky is cozied up on the couch under a blanket, with Alpine tucked into his side and Rusty curled up on his feet. He’s still complaining about being cold, though, so Steve is lighting the fireplace, adding to the warm glow emanating from their Christmas tree. Once he’s done, Steve moves to the couch as well, shooing Rusty to his other side, so Steve can take his place at Bucky’s feet. He pulls them into his lap, wrapping his hands around them, and even through the big, fluffy socks he’s wearing, Bucky’s feet feel like icicles.

“ _How_ are your feet still cold?’ Steve wonders.

“Told you,” Bucky mutters, not looking up from his book. “I’m more of a summer kind of person. I thrive in warm weather.”

Steve raises a skeptical eyebrow. “May I remind you that the fact that we met in the first place is due to you desperately trying to get your AC unit to work because you were dying of heatstroke?”

“I said ‘summer kind of person’, Steve. Not ‘blistering heatwave of death’ kind of person.”

Steve smiles at his boyfriend. “You are so dramatic.”

“It’s why you love me,” Bucky shrugs, finally looking up and meeting Steve’s eyes. There’s a hint of anticipation there that Steve adores. He doesn’t keep him hanging.

“I do love you, sweetheart,” Steve says, and he knows he’ll never tire of saying it. “I love you to the moon and back.”

“To the moon and back,” Bucky echoes, eyes shining like he’ll never be tired of hearing it. “Now come over here and let me use that big, hot body of yours as a heated blanket.”

Steve gladly obliges.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come and shout with me about these two on [Tumblr](https://musette22.tumblr.com/) if you want!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: Recharging Getaway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180473) by [LiquidLightz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLightz/pseuds/LiquidLightz)




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